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(t Frontispiece. 

SOMETHING UNDER THE TABLE WAS AMUSING HER.” 












































































JIMMY 

GOLD-COAST 

OR 

THE STORY OF A MONKEY AND 
HIS FRIENDS 


MARSHALL SAUNDERS 

AUTHOR OF “BEAUTIFUL JOE” 


PHILADELPHIA 

DAVID McKAY COMPANY 

WASHINGTON SQUARE 







?l It 

: 

eft 

OH* 


Copyright, 1924 , by 
DAVID McKAY COMPANY 


AUG 27 ’24 


- ©Cl A 8015 37 


Ov* -V 


ft 


Contents 

CHAPTER I page 

A WONDERFUL NEW COUNTRY - - - - - - - - « 

CHAPTER II 

MASTER NAPPY AND HIS SISTER.19 

CHAPTER III 

A PARROT FROM AFRICA. 29 

CHAPTER IV 

POLLY AND I HAVE A TALK.34 

CHAPTER V 

WHAT WAS IN THE TELEGRAM.44 

CHAPTER VI 

RACHEL CALLS AT THE PARSONAGE.55 

CHAPTER VII 

NONNIE AND HER BROTHER. 6 a 

CHAPTER VIII 

THE ARRIVAL OF MY MASTER. 70 

CHAPTER IX 

A LONG AND HAPPY TIME - - - -. 78 

CHAPTER X 

POLLY TELLS ME WHAT SHE THINKS OF ME. 92 

CHAPTER XI 

NONNIE’S SERMON TO THE ANIMALS. 100 

CHAPTER XII 

MY MASTER RUNS AWAY. 108 

CHAPTER XIII 

A TRIP FOR NONNIE.. 

vii 

















Vlll 


Contents 


CHAPTER XIV 

WE ARRIVE IN ROSSIGNOL. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER XV 

GRANDMOTHER'S GHOST STORY. 

• - I 3 S 

CHAPTER XVI 

THE LIGHT ON THE WATER. 


CHAPTER XVII 

A DAY OP UNCERTAINTY. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

HEAD OP HIS CLAN - - -. 


CHAPTER XIX 

THE TALK IN THE BEST PARLOR . 


CHAPTER XX 

WE START FOR HOME -.. 


CHAPTER XXI 

WE MOVE TO THE CITY.- 


CHAPTER XXII 

A TIRED FAMILY.. . 


CHAPTER XXIII 

A VISIT TO THE COUNTY JAIL. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

A NEW MACHADRA. 


CHAPTER XXV 

NONNIE FALLS INTO DISGRACE WITH OUR MASTERY- 

- 331 

CHAPTER XXVI 

THE TIMOTHY QUEST. 

- - 238 

CHAPTER XXVII 

NONNIE FINDS HER TIMOTHY. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

THE END OF THE TRIAL - - !-. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

NONNIE’S VISIT TO THE’ PENITENTIARY .... 




















Contents ix 

CHAPTER XXX page 

THE CALL IN THE NIGHT. vji 

CHAPTER XXXI 

RIGHT ABOUT TURN.383 

CHAPTER XXXII 

OUT ON PAROLE. A .387 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

WHAT NONNIE THOUGHT OP THE PRISON CAMP - - - - 251 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

MY LITTLE WYNKOOPS.302 

CHAPTER XXXV 

FRISCO-CO AND POLLY-LEE.311 

CHAPTER XXXVI 

LAST WORDS. ^ - - 3 IS 











0 














Chapter I A Wonderful New Country 

“Jimmy Gold-Coast, Jimmy Gold-Coast, you’re a 
great old pet!” 

He said it over and over again to me that day of 
our parting, and quite affectionately too, just like a 
girl, and he was not an affectionate lad by any means. 
He had a quiet, ugly little temper of his own, but he 
never hurt me, his dear young monkey. Indeed, he 
used to hug and kiss me when no one was looking, 
for I was the only one that loved that peculiar youth 
whom his companions called Napoleon because he was 
such a dictator. 

These companions pretended to like him, but they 
did not. Each one was out for himself. They were 
jealous and afraid of him when—but I am not going 
to tell much about his badness, for I am writing a 
story for boys and girls. However, it is no harm to 
let them know that I was once a bad little monkey 
and belonged to a bad boy who was almost a young 
man, and oh! what troubles we had. They are over 
now, but I assure you that we had first to cross some 
stormy seas. 

We were a seagoing pair, and I had been half over 
the world with my master, when one day he took a 
steamer for America—the northern part of it, and 
came to a very beautiful place called Canada. 

Carramarramando! but it was hot. “Surely we are 
in a place that is twin brother to the Gold Coast,” 
I thought. I had heard sailors talk about Canada, 
and I supposed it was a cold and snowy country where 
ii 




12 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


everyone froze his fingers. Well! it was not cold in 
summer, and the place I went to with my master was 
like the Garden of Eden—not that I know what the 
Garden of Eden is, but I heard my master murmuring 
it to himself as we travelled along that sad day of our 
parting. 

First of all we arrived in a wonderful harbor. I 
know something about harbors, and that proud, mag¬ 
nificent one sweeping in from the northern Atlantic 
could hold its own with any harbor in the world. Our 
steamer drew up beside a long pier, and our first-class 
passengers got off, and our second-class passengers got 
off, and last of all the steerage men and women, and 
boys and girls in their queer European garments were 
packed away into the long trains waiting to take them 
to a place called “Western Canada.” 

“If there is room for all these people,” I thought to 
myself, “then Canada must be bigger than the Gold 
Coast.” 

You see I always compare everything to the Gold 
Coast, because that is where I first remember any¬ 
thing. I was then a little bit of a monkey clinging 
to my mother’s breast. A sailor had bought her and 
he did not know how to take care of her, and she 
died, and Master Nappy, who was a passenger on the 
same ship, bought me and I loved him from the start, 
for he has a nice kind way with animals, though he is 
cold to most human beings. 

I travelled about the world for a year or two with 
Master Nappy, then he took me to England and 
introduced me to other youths, or perhaps I should 
say very young men who had nice manners, for my 
master is well born, and is Mr. Napier Gordon Mac¬ 
Gregor MacHadra, and his uncle is head of a Highland 
clan. 




A Wonderful New Country 




Master Nappy absolutely won’t associate with per¬ 
sons who have vulgar manners, but dear boys and 
girls, though I am only a monkey, I have learned that 
manners alone do not count. Back of the manners 
must be a good heart, and my dear master had not a 
good heart, for he used to steal money and jewels 
from other persons, and I alas! when I was a bad 
little monkey used to help him. 

Well, when we got off the steamer, Master Nappy 
put me in one of the nice large travelling-boxes made 
for dogs, and putting my eye to the peep-hole I saw 
that we were going into a station and toward a train. 

When we got on the train, Master Nappy lifted 
the cover of my box and allowed me to look out the 
window. He propped his light coat behind me, for 
he hated to have anyone notice me. He used to say, 
“Show a monkey anywhere, and a tribe of children 
will spring out of the earth.” 

After we left the station we passed through a long 
city, stretched by the shore of the wonderful harbor. 
There were miles of wharves and slips, and some very 
long piers where lay ships of all nations. 

Then the train got up speed and whirled us to a 
wild, lovely country where there were firs and pines 
and spruces, and scores of little rushing streams, and 
lakes and rivers that reminded me of northern Europe. 
We might have been going fishing in Norway. ~ 

It seems that this part of Canada is called Nova 
Scotia, and it is a very romantic place where French 
people and English and Indians used to have lots of 
battles till the English beat all the others and began 
to rule it. 

I loved it at first sight, and was very happy in the 
beautiful heat. I basked in the sun, and never 




14 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


dreamed that my master was planning to run away 
from me and not come back for a long time. 

The train was very comfortable, for my master 
always takes the best car he can get, but even in the 
big cushioned seats, and with all the windows open, 
he was quite hot, so at last he took me out on the 
platform of the rear car. 

Here there were wicker chairs and no passengers, 
and also a warm strong breeze, so Master Nappy was 
contented. He took me on his knee, rang for afternoon 
tea, snubbed the black porter when he exclaimed at 
the sight of me, and told him he would get no tip if 
he told anyone that there was a monkey on the train. 
Then he called my attention to the picturesque farms 
with apple orchards that we were passing through. 
The trees were all in pink and white bloom, and they 
were the most exquisite sight I have ever seen. 

Big white houses were buried among the trees, and 
sometimes we came to a pretty town. There did not 
seem to be anything ugly about the country, and 
even my master, who is hard to please, got rid of the 
little frown on his brow, and murmured, “An absolute 
fairyland—now, Jimmy Gold-Coast, you know where 
the big red apples come from that you see in the 
London market.” 

I might as well say that I am not much of a talker, 
but I have some grunts and squeals that serve me 
pretty well. Among the grunts, the first one means, 
“Yes,” the second one, “No,” the third one means! 
“I am pleased,” and the fourth one, “I am angry.” 

On this day I gave my pleased grunt, and Master 
Nappy was pleased because I was pleased. 

I sat staring at him. Why was he coming up into 
this peaceful country? The farmers and sober people 
at stations, or getting on trains did not look like per- 




A Wonderful New Country 


1 5 


sons who would wear the jewels and carry the wads 
of money that he thought so much of. Whatever was 
he going to do up here, and I studied his pale puzzling 
face. 

‘‘This is the Evangeline country,” he said to me, and 
he repeated some lines in his charming cultured voice: 

“In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of 
Minas, 

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre 

Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to 
the eastward, 

Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks 
without number.” 

I loved this poetry, and I wish I could remember 
the rest of what he recited, but it is only a pleasant 
blur in my memory. However, it made me surer than 
ever that we were in a very beautiful part of the world, 
for now I caught in the distance the blue shimmer of 
my beloved sea water in the Basin that he had men¬ 
tioned. 

All that long glorious afternoon the sun beamed on 
us from a clear sky, then he went slowly down behind 
the shoulder of one of the high hills on our left. I 
was just thinking that he seemed reluctant to leave 
the lovely orchards, when a wave of fatigue came over 
me, and cuddling under my master’s arm I went fast 
asleep. 

When I woke up he had lifted my hot little body 
under his chair, and he was staring up at a ripe old 
moon that bathed the white and green landscape in a 
soft yellow light. He was having his dinner brought 
out to him on a tray, and was again snubbing the 
porter who wished to talk about me. I like black 
people, and when he winked at me behind my master’s 
back, I reached out a hand and stroked him kindly. 




i6 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


For this he sneaked me some extra nuts, and these, 
in addition to a few I stole, made me a more than 
comfortable meal, and gave me some to hide in my 
box. 

Not that my master did not feed me well, but he 
gave me few dainties, and I, like a child, love cakes 
and sweets, and all sorts of things that are not good 
for me, but now that I am a reformed monkey, I 
make myself eat a great deal of coarse food, and I 
am much better for it. 

It used to be the breath of life to me to steal, and 
oh! what trouble I got into, but then you see, no 
one had ever told me that even a poor little monkey 
can learn how to behave himself and respect the rights 
of other animals, and birds, and even human beings. 

After his dinner my master broke the news of our 
parting to me, and I stared at him, feeling so low 
and dull that I could not even grunt. 

Jimmy, old man,” he said, “I am taking you to 
my young sister, the only thing on earth I love but 
you, and my old nurse Nonnie. You have often heard 
me speak of Rachel, and you have seen her photo¬ 
graph. I know monkeys hate like the mischief to 
change owners, but if you’ll be good and stay by her, 
and not have too many tricks, I’ll come for you both 
some day and take you to live with me.” 

I was nearly crazy by this time, but I only grunted 
painfully. I knew his naughty temper, though when 
I angered him he never struck me, but lashed me with 
words that were worse than blows from a stick. 

Cheer up, Jimmy,” he said, caressing me. “You’re 
a source of danger to me now, and if I keep you I’m 
sure to be spotted. I’ve been nearly caught as it is, 
on account of my ridiculous fondness for you—you 
half-human little brute. Now, hie back into your box. 




A Wonderful New Country 17 

We’re about arriving in the place where my darling 
has been brought up,” and he shut me up, and taking 
the box in one hand, laid hold of his suit-case with 
the other, and slipped quietly from the rear platform 
of the car we were in. 

For a while I gave way to my feelings, and crouched 
down in my box. Then I held up my head. What 
was the use of giving way? I would only weaken 
myself and make my fur come out, for monkeys’ feel¬ 
ings go right through to their skin. Then some day 
I would see my master again, so I put my eye to the 
hole in the side of my box. 

We had evidently arrived in a country village, and 
were walking down a long street with big trees over¬ 
head. I could hear the summer night wind murmuring 
in their branches, and after a time, to my great delight, 
for like all animals I dislike being shut up, my master 
opened my box and let me spring to his shoulder. 

That was the way I liked to travel, and I stretched 
myself, and stared at the white houses each side of 
the street, while I sniffed the delicious perfume from 
their flower-beds. 

Presently we came to a place where four roads met, 
and then my master began to go very cautiously. 
Perhaps I had better say that all along he had been 
hiding himself behind trees when he heard anyone 
coming down the board side-walk, but I was so used 
to his stealthy tricks that I thought nothing of it. 
It seemed to me then that the proper way to go down 
a street at night was to walk a bit, then hide, for 
Master Nappy and all his friends went that way. 

At this corner was a dear little stream meandering 
along through the moonlight and talking to itself. I 
could hear it telling the news of the day to the purple 
flags that bordered it. Later on I found that the 

B 




i8 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


children near by called it Wandering Annie, for it was 
a gentle thing though it came from the big bold hills 
that kept the fierce winds from the valley. I pricked 
up my ears when I heard the stream mentioning the 
Bay of Fundy, for that was a body of water that 
made a great talk among sailors, and I had often heard 
of its mighty tides and the rushing way that they came 
into harbors in their high bores. 

Well, my master went down by the stream and hid 
his suit-case among the willows, then he came back 
to the road, and with me clinging to his shoulder, crept 
along under some shrubs till he got close to a long, 
low house with a veranda in front of it. 

This veranda was shaded by a climbing rose covered 
with little buds that would soon be fragrant flowers, 
and its green odor was most grateful to a monkey 
whose nostrils had been so much accustomed to salt 
air. My master loved it too, and I could hear him 
taking long breaths as he crouched down in the grass 
close to the veranda. 

After a while he made a low noise like an owl, but 
not like any owl that I had ever heard. I found out 
afterwards that he was imitating the note of the 
small Acadian saw-whet. 

Someone came softly to the veranda, and stretching 
out my head to look at her, I saw to my surprise that 
it was a black woman—and now more than ever, I 
thought that Nova Scotia was like the Gold Coast. 




Chapter II 


Master Nappy and His Sister 


“Down by the brook/’ whispered Master Nappy, 
and the black woman disappeared. 

We followed her to the hollow, and picked our way 
over the grass to a point a few paces from the road. 

The woman was standing among the flags, and I 
found out afterwards that it was quite damp there, 
but when she saw her dear master, she got so excited 
that she never thought of herself. 

“My boy, my boy,” she was saying under her breath, 
“Nonnie’s boy has come back again.” 

I took a good look at her. She was quite an elderly 
woman, and very, very fat and black, and as shiny 
as sealing-wax. Her hair was woolly, and she had a 
big white cap on. Her eyes were dark and as bright 
and shining as the diamonds in the body belt round 
Master Nappy’s waist. Her nose was as flat as a 
pancake, but the nostrils had a roguish flare to them 
that showed she was good-natured. 

“Mr. Nappy, have you come to take your sister and 
Nonnie out into the world?” she whispered. 

My master was beaming all over, for he loved this 
old woman whom I found out later had brought him 
up. He gave her a good hug, then he said teasingly, 
“Naughty Nonnie—you want to get out into the 
wicked whirling world where there is so much trouble. 
Why aren’t you contented to stay in this quiet place?” 




20 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“I ain’t uncontented, Mr. Nappy,” she said so 
earnestly that he hushed her up a bit, “but there ain’t 
no colored folk here for your poor old Nonnie to 
’sociate wid, an’ I’se a-gettin’ ole.” 

He patted her broad back. “Wait a while, Nonnie. 
Some day I’ll come and take you and Miss Rachel 
away to a fine house and you shall be housekeeper. 
Now tell me how my sister is getting on. She goes 
to school every day?” 

“She runs there, an’ she runs home, an’ off through 
the village wid a pack of yellin’ young ones at her 
heels. She’s a goer, is Miss Rachel.” 

“She’s growing, I suppose.” 

“All out of her does—your aunt, she’s always 
a-mendin’ of them.” 

“Did my uncle begin her French lessons?” 

“Yes, sir, after you writ that, an’ he sits her down 
in a corner of his office wid her book, an’ she mumbles, 
'Musa, musa, musam,’ an’ then she jumps up an’ kites 
off as wild as a hawk.” 

“Musa isn’t French, Nonnie,” said my master with 
a chuckle. 

“Ain’t it, boy? Well, Nonnie don’t know one 
language from t’other, only her own.” 

“My uncle must be teaching her Latin,” said Master 
Nappy in a pleased way. 

“Well, it’s some dead tongue she learns,” said 
Nonnie, “and one live one, ’cause she telled me so, 
an’ I said, ‘If your uncle teaches you any more live 
speeches, there’ll be no livin’ wid you, for you talks 

all de time an’ never stops but for to sleep-’ My 

soul an’ body, chile—what’s dat little black imp on 
your shoulder? Nonnie’s eyes ain’t so good as dey 
might be.” 





Master Nappy and His Sister 


21 


“That’s a monkey,” said my master, “something for 
you and Rachel to play with,” and he handed me to 
her. 

“Bless its little heart,” said this nice old black crea¬ 
ture, and she fondled me as if I had been a baby. 
“Nonnie’ll set great store by a weenie blackamoor.” 

I patted her cheeks with my hands, for I saw that 
we should be great friends, but my time with my 
master was short, and I crept back to his shoulder. 

He was asking more questions about his sister. “Is 
she as pretty as ever?” he said, then he waited anx¬ 
iously for her answer. 

“To me,” replied the old woman, “she’s jus’ like 
de sun in his glory, an’ de moon in all her might, but 
I’m bound to tell you, Mr. Nappy, dat dere’s some 
onunderstandin’ folks dat say she ain’t no beauty.” 

He was silent, and I knew he was disappointed, for 
my master was then one who set great store by a fine 
appearance outside, no matter what the inside was like. 

“Well,” he said at last, “she always has her sweet 
disposition, hasn’t she, Nonnie?” 

“Sweet,” repeated the old woman, “she’s jus’ like 
honey, but I mus’ tell you dat young one courts trouble 
like a bee courts a blossom.” 

“How’s that?” asked Master Nappy sharply. 

“She’s a-gettin’ older, an’ she starts to boss, an’ like 
all bosses she runs up agin stone walls, an’ den she 
butts dem—she don’t give way.” 

He smiled. “Oh! she’ll get over that. She’s only 
a child.” 

“She’s bound to lead,” said the woman. “She’s like 
you, Mr. Nappy. All de Sandys, dey’s hitters-out— 
How you gettin’ on, boy?” and her tone became 
anxious. 




22 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“All right,” he said calmly. “Now, Nonnie, I want 
to snatch a look at Rachel. Can you arrange it?” 

“Sure, boy,” she said, and she gazed up the grassy 
bank by which we were standing. Above was a lighted 
window in a room that I found out afterwards was 
called the Doctor’s study. 

“Gimme a boost up de bank, boy,” she said under 
her breath, “an’ I’ll sniff round.” 

Master Nappy grinned and pushed her up, and 
presently she turned to us and waved her hand. 

We climbed up, but very carefully, for the window 
was wide open; then Master Nappy hid his slender 
body behind Nonnie’s fat one, and peeped over her 
shoulder, and I crouched down on his shoulder, and 
peeped from behind his head. 

We were looking into a big room full of bookcases 
and cabinets of bottles, and huge wall maps, and 
having a big centre table. 

At the table sat a broad-shouldered young man with 
his back toward us. In front of him, and on the other 
side of the table, stood a little girl, and I knew at once 
that this was Master Nappy’s sister. She certainly 
was no beauty, as Nonnie had hinted, for her nose was 
too long and the rest of her face would have to grow 
up to it; but what eyes and hair, and what a sweet 
mouth 1 

Something under the table was amusing her, and 
when she presently threw back her head and burst into 
a girlish laugh, Master Nappy just held his breath to 
keep from joining in. 

I saw what the little girl had, and what it was that 
made Master Nappy and the old nurse love her. She 
was so interested in others, and so unconscious of her¬ 
self that she just seemed to live outside herself. Just 




Master Nappy and His Sister 


23 


now it was the thing under the table that she was 
living for. She might have been alone in a desert 
with it, and presently the thing crawled into sight, 
coming up claw over claw. In my excitement, I forgot 
my training, and my master’s stern command not to 
open my mouth in the presence of strangers, and I 
gave one of my loudest grunts—for it was a parrot 
that was before me, one of the lovely pearl-grey, pow¬ 
dered-looking, red-tailed African parrots from the 
Gold Coast. 

In a second I was away back in my African home 
where thousands of these parrots wing their way at 
night time from the mountains to the magnificent 
forests where they sleep in the trees, and just as I was 
thinking of this far-away time, I was rudely recalled 
to Nova Scotia by Master Nappy pitching me into 
Nonnie’s arms. He was away like a frightened deer 
into the darkness under the trees. 

I gazed after him, for he was dearer to me than all 
the grey parrots in the world, but I knew better than 
to run after him, and clung whimperingly to good old 
Nonnie, who was hushing me as if I had been a baby. 

When I at last looked up, the young man and the 
little girl had both come to the window and were 
gazing out. 

“What does this mean, Nonnie?” asked the man, 
and he stared at me in bewilderment. 

“It’s a monkey, a monkey,” shrieked the little girl, 
vaulting through the window like a boy, and stretching 
out her hands towards me. “A real live monkey! 
Nonnie, where did you get it—where did you get the 
lovely, darling angel thing?” 

I went to the child somewhat unwillingly. She was 
my new owner and I must get used to her, but my 
heart was sore for my master. 




24 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Old Nonnie was plucking her by the sleeve. “Your 
brother brung it, missie. He’s jus’ left.” 

“For the nine-thirty train,” said the little girl as 
quick as a flash. “I’ll run after him,” and she was 
about to dash out to the street when the old woman 
caught at her again, and waved her hand toward the 
back of the house. 

She was signalling to her to take the short cut, and 
she was doing so in fear and trembling, lest the young 
man who was the head of the household should inter¬ 
fere, but he was wise and good and he knew that 
Nonnie meant well by his nephew. So, as I found out 
afterward, he never said a word after the child went, 
but sauntered up the back way to the station after her, 
for he knew she would be broken-hearted when she 
had to return without her brother. 

“My monkey, my monkey,” breathed the child as 
we scurried along, “you’re a beloved link between poor 
Rachel and her brother,” and holding me to her breast 
as carefully as if I had been some treasured doll, she 
ran steadily up a moonlit path that led through the 
garden and orchard and down to a hollow where we 
caught up to the murmuring brook foaming and 
bubbling over its nice brown stones. 

What a runner the child was! She did not seem 
much out of breath, and she never paused until we 
had passed through a little wood where young trees 
stood thinly, and reached the gates of a small cemetery 
lying bathed in the moonlight on the slope of a hill. 
There she slowed down, and pausing between two 
graves banked high with flowers, said softly, “Mother, 
father, help me keep our boy. He’s so slippery.” 

“Well, well,” I thought, “what kind of a little girl 
is this that is not afraid of a graveyard by night? 




Master Nappy and His Sister 25 

Even a big sailor would whistle if he went by 
this.” 

I guessed though that her parents were buried here, 
and that the graves would be no more to her than 
two soft beds, and I found out later that this was so, 
and also that a particular robin friend of hers called 
“Daisy” had a nest and young ones in a maple tree 
that stood beside the graves. 

This remarkable child walked in a swift way 
through the cemetery, and reaching the board side¬ 
walk outside the gates, put her head on one side and 
listened. 

“A strange step,” she said, “must be Nappy. We’ve 
got him, monkey dear,” and poising herself in the 
shrubbery, she sprang at his neck. 

She nearly frightened him to death, for his nerves 
were none of the strongest, and he dropped his suit¬ 
case and his hand went to his side. 

I slipped to the sidewalk, and the child, in a perfect 
ecstasy, and with a regular strangle-hold of his neck, 
cried, “Oh! brother, brother.” 

I could hear him choking, and prudently ran to a 
little distance. 

How annoyed he was. “You little tomboy,” he said 
irritably. “Let me go. What do you mean by spring¬ 
ing at me like a cat?” 

“Angel brother,” she gurgled, “beauty boy; oh! how 
sweet you look. You can’t frighten your Rachel. How 
dare you run away from me?” 

Master Nappy listened, found there was no one 
coming, then dropped down on a rustic seat by the 
cemetery gates. 

“Sister,” he said more kindly, “I was sorry not to 
see you,” and he stared at her with his whole soul in 




26 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


his eyes. Oh! how he loved her, but he would not 
tell her so. 

“Hold up your head,” she said unexpectedly. “Why 
do you pull your hat down over your face? You 
always act as if you were afraid to have me look at 
you. Oh! Nappy, stay with your sister a few days.” 

“Can’t,” he said, “I have pressing business.” 

“What is this business?” she said suspiciously, “that 
keeps you away from me all the time ? I asked Auntie 
and Uncle and they won’t tell me—Oh! Nappy, how 
perfectly glorious it is to have you,” and she hugged 
his arm. 

The child was overjoyed to see him, but she was 
only a child, and I could see by the way Master 
Nappy’s eyes devoured every line of her face that she 
was far more dear to him than he was to her. What 
a pity he had to leave her, but I could very well under¬ 
stand that for any one in his line of business it would 
be impossible to travel with a child. It was bad enough 
to have a monkey. 

He was fumbling in his pocket. “Girlie, I forgot 
to give this to Nonnie for you.” 

“I’ll do without a present, if you’ll stay with me,” 
she said mournfully. “When a little girl has no father 
or mother living with her, and no sister and only 
one brother, I think it’s pretty hard for them to be 
separated.” 

“Some day we’ll live together,” he said soothingly. 
“Now take this money, my dear, and buy something 
you like.” 

Her face clouded. “Auntie says I am never to take 
any money from you.” 

He scowled, and was going to say some angry thing, 
then he checked himself. “Tell Auntie I was purser 
on a steamer for six months and this is some of the 




Master Nappy and His Sister 


2 7 


money I earned. Get her to buy you some new frocks. 
You look rather plain.” And he shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders as he looked at her pink cotton. “Now, good-bye, 
girlie, I’ve got to catch my train.” 

She began to cry, and with a face full of some 
dreadful grief, he gathered her to him and comforted 
her. Some day he would come for her, and take her 
out in the world and Nonnie would keep house for 
them. 

“Give me one look in your face before you go,” she 
said in a strange, old-fashioned way—“just one look, 
brother. It is so long between the times you come.” 

Master Nappy took off his hat, and stood quite still 
in the moonlight, and though I am only a monkey, I 
could have shrieked with sympathy. It was terrible to 
see that look on the face of a boy who was scarcely 
a man—a kind of hopeless look, as if to say, “I would 
like to go your way, but I cannot, and I cannot take 
you to walk my way. We must live apart.” His 
eyes just seemed to burn into that plain-looking but 
sweet, girlish face. She loved him, and he would not 
let her live with him. Then, as if he might never 
see her again, he kissed her very sadly, and saying, 
“Be a good girl, dearest, and do what your Aunt tells 
you,” he walked slowly away. 

Then I did a very naughty thing. My heart was 
sore too, and I did not try to bear up like these two 
human beings, but I just gave way to my feelings 
and crept along behind him. I was going to track 
him to the station, hoping that he would relent and 
take me with him, but he knew my tricks pretty well, 
and after a time he turned round suspiciously, and 
menacing me with his fist made me run back quickly 
to the place where Rachel lay sobbing on the grass. 




28 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Now I wanted to be a kind little monkey, so I 
stepped up to her and put my hand on her hair. 

Oh! how delighted she was. She stopped crying, 
and caught me to her, and then we were just about 
to go comfortably to the house together, when a sudden 
voice said, “Rachel!” 





Chapter III 


A Parrot from Africa 


There, coming out of the cemetery, was the young 
man—her Uncle. He stretched out a hand to his 
niece, and when she began to cry again, he said kindly, 
“Don’t grieve, my child. He will come back some day. 
The cords of love will draw him.” Then he began 
to talk to her about me, and child-like she soon forgot 
her trouble. 

“Just wait till the other children see him,” said the 
young man. “I know he will cause a sensation.” 

This delighted the little girl, and she began to walk 
faster. 

We went back the same way that we had come, only 
to get inside the white house we went to the other 
side of it, and crossed a wide yard covered with tan- 
bark. Beyond the yard was a barn, and through its 
open screen doors I could hear the gentle breathing 
of a cow and a horse. 

We entered the house through the kitchen door, and 
went on to a long dining-room where a number of 
children were studying round a table. Their mother 
sat at the head of the table sewing, and as she sewed 
she kept her eyes on the children. Oh! how many 
evenings later was I to see her sitting there so sweet 
and patient, but very firm, for if any child dared to 
let his or her mind wander, she spoke in a low voice, 
and if no attention was paid to her, she would lean 
over and gently tap the offender on the head with 
her silver thimble. 

This evening, however, she let them throw discipline 
29 




30 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

to the winds, for at my entrance every child was up 
and shouting. 

Rachel put me in the middle of the big Spanish 
mahogany table, and looking about me, I at first 
thought I would do some tricks. 

Then I checked myself. I know what children are, 
and if I began to perform for them, they would keep 
me going all the time and tire me to death. So I 
simply stared at them, and I soon found out that I 
need not have worried about tricks. Everything I did 
was a trick to these country children. 

I was very hot and itchy, for I never dared scratch 
myself when I was with my master, so I took up my 
tail and began to curry it with my fingers. 

The children yelled with glee. I did not see any¬ 
thing so very funny about a monkey trying to keep 
himself clean, so I made a dreadful but good-natured 
face at them. 

The Bedlam that arose when I did this was so great 
that the energetic young mother interposed, and 
threatened to send every child to bed if they did not 
lower their voices. Poor little souls—they did look 
crestfallen at this threat, but they soon forgot it, and 
were screaming more loudly than ever at my antics. 

They set fruit and water before me, and I ate and 
drank, and they mimicked me, and fell into such a 
state of riotous excitement that one would have 
thought they were at a circus. A monkey seemed a 
real treat to them. 

In the midst of their good time, something began 
to sing in a hoarse but perfectly distinct voice. That 
beautiful parrot I had seen earlier had come into the 
room, and was trying to outshine me. 

I didn’t care. I wished to see what she was like, 
and I turned suddenly to stone and stared at her. 




A Parrot from Africa 


3i 


She was waddling over the floor, and as we all 
turned to her she began to climb claw over claw up a 
stand in one of the windows of the dining-room, sing¬ 
ing all the time one of the songs that Nonnie had 
brought up from her home away down South: 

“Oh! shout, shout, de debbil is about, 

Oh, shut your door an’ keep him out, 

I don’t want to stay here no longer. 

“For he is so much like a snaky in de grass, 

If you don’t mind he’ll get you at last, 

I don’t want to stay here no longer.” 

The children just howled with delight, but I frowned, 
for I thought this was a very personal and rude little 
song. 

“Don’t mind, darling,” said Rachel, caressing me, 
“our parrot does not know what she is saying.” 

“Doesn’t she?” I reflected. “That is just where you 
human beings make a mistake about parrots. They 
are very clever creatures, and understand every word 
they utter.” 

Then I regretted that I could not talk. I am much 
more intelligent than a parrot, and I would have 
enjoyed giving her a scolding in words as good as 
her own. However, I put in a bit of good work 
grunting and gesticulating, and soon I had them all 
laughing at the crestfallen Polly. 

When she tried to begin singing again I ran up and 
down the table shaking my fist at her and jabbering 
unutterable things. She had to give in. I was 
cleverer than she was, and in her heart I soon found 
out she was as pleased to see me as I was to see her, 
only being of a jealous disposition she didn’t want me 
to find this out too soon. 

“Shut up,” she signalled to me in our own bird 





32 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


and beast language, which is usually soundless, ‘Tm 
your friend. I was just trying you out. My! but I’m 
glad to see someone who has some color. These people 
in this part of the world are so pallid compared with 
us of Africa.” 

Wasn’t I delighted! I ran to her, I stroked her 
feathers which lay close and smooth, and did not stick 
out like porcupine quills as some parrots’ feathers do. 
Her eyes were as clear as crystal, her body was beauti¬ 
fully plump, her breast-bone was not prominent, and 
her red tail was superb. 

“You’re a pearl-grey beauty,” I said enthusiastically. 

She made a little contented sound, and took my 
inquisitive fingers gently in her big horny beak. We 
were going to be friends, and I was very glad and 
thankful, though I must say I have had some pretty 
lively times with her since that day, for she has a 
really cranky disposition. 

“Now for bed,” I thought to myself, and I began 
to yawn, for I had had a very exciting day. 

Rachel had got my name from her brother, and she 
said, “Jimmy Gold-Coast is tired.” 

“And so is everybody,” said the young mistress of 
the house, “we are very late to-night,” and she swept 
her flock upstairs. I did not get the children all 
straightened out until the morning, for as soon as we 
reached the large upper chambers of the house, I 
curled up in my box and went to sleep. There was 
an old coat of Master Nappy’s folded at the bottom 
of the box, and I felt as if my head were on his dear 
arm. 

“Let him alone, children,” said the mother when 
they all came in to look at me and invite me to share 
their rooms. “He is homesick.” 

I gazed sleepily up at her. How did she know— 




A Parrot from Africa 33 

Oh! she had a good big mother heart, had that 
woman. 

The last thing that fell on my ear as I dropped 
asleep was a croak from the parrot. 

“I hope my mudder will feed dem lambs, 

I don’t want to stay here no longer.” 

I wondered sleepily what the morrow would bring 
forth. Probably I should be bored to death in this 
country place. How little I knew what was going to 
happen on the morrow. Then I dropped off, and 
dreamed that I was on the Bay of Biscay in a fishing 
boat with my master, and a frightful storm had come 
up. 


c 




Chapter IV 


Polly and I Have a Talk 


I wasn’t very much rested when I woke up, as night¬ 
mares had troubled me, but I roused myself cheerfully, 
for a monkey can always steal away somewhere to 
snatch a nap. 

The parrot was perched on the edge of my box. 
“Come outside,’’ she whispered, “it’s a great day for 
parrots and monkeys.” 

She did not fly downstairs, but hopped, and I 
stepped along beside her trying to act like a gentleman 
monkey. 

She led me out to the front veranda and climbed 
up among the red rosebuds. There was a shelf up 
there for her, and she told me that it was her favorite 
nook and she sat there by the hour watching the 
passers-by. 

“If you are a good little monkey,” she said patron¬ 
izingly, you may often sit beside me, but remember 
I got here first, and if ever I wish to turn you out, 
you must go.” 

I grinned, but did not promise to respect her rights; 
then she showed me her secret store of food. I was 
not hungry, for I had stuffed myself the night before, 
but to please her I nibbled at some biscuits and ate 
half a banana, a morsel of wedding cake someone had 
given her, and a trifle of assorted sweetmeats and some 
peanuts. 

Then we settled down for a talk. The warm summer 
sun had come up and was beaming down pleasantly 
on our backs. A few early cows sauntered down the 
34 




Polly and I Have a Talk 


35 


village street—fine, contented-looking cows putting 
themselves out to pasture, the parrot told me, for they 
knew their way as well as the human being did. They 
had been milked at home, and sagged along as happy 
as they could be. 

Once in a while a farmer jogged by on horseback, 
or in a buggy, but for long intervals there was not a 
soul in sight. 

“Is no one up yet?” I asked. 

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Mrs. Sandys has been in 
the kitchen for some time, but she is moving about 
carefully, so the family can sleep, for they were up 
unusually late last night.” 

“Doesn’t the lady make the black servant work?” 
I asked. 

“Oh, yes, Nonnie works, but she is getting old, and 
Mrs. Sandys lets her rest a good deal.” 

“That isn’t like the Gold Coast,” I said. “If I had 
to be a nigger, I’d like to be one here.” 

“You mustn’t say 'nigger’ here, and you mustn’t 
say 'servant,’ ” remarked the parrot severely. 

“Why not?” I asked in surprise. 

“I dunno,” said Polly in her hoarse voice. 

“So Sandys is the name of the people who live 
here,” I observed. 

The parrot puffed herself out in delight. “Do you 
really know nothing about anybody or anything here?” 

“I might as well tell you what I do know,” I said. 
“I know that I am a monkey, and I belong to a very 
young man called Napier Gordon MacGregor Mac- 
Hadra. It is a wonder that he takes a monkey with 
him, for he does not seem that kind of a young man, 
but he does, and one reason may be that a monkey 
is on the coat-of-arms of his family, and on their old 
tombs there was always the figure of one at the feet 




36 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


of the sleeping chiefs. He is very fond of me, and I 
am heartbroken that he has left me, but some day he 
will come back and take me away with him and his 
sister and the nice black woman/' 

The parrot looked at me curiously. “Is that all you 
know about your master?” 

“All that I tell the general public of the animal 
kingdom,” I said loftily. 

“Because,” she said, “I can tell you about your 
master and his mother and his grandfather and his 
grandmother, and their parents and ancestors for 
hundreds of years.” 

I was silent for a minute. She had got ahead of 
me here. “Do you know anything about his father’s 
family and the MacHadras ?” I asked. 

“Everything,” she said emphatically, “from their 
old castle on a rock in a country called Scotland, down 
to this boy, your master.” 

I did not know this parrot well yet, and somehow 
or other I had scruples about discussing my master 
with her, so I said, ‘Won’t you tell me something' 
about yourself?” 

“Do you want to hear the history of my life?” she 
asked in delight. 

“I should be charmed,” I said politely, and she 
began. 

I was hatched on the Gold Coast, and negroes 
stole me from my mother’s nest in a hole in a tree 
and sold me to a bird-dealer, who took me with other 
poor little frightened parrots to New York. He 
scarcely gave us any water to drink, because he 
thought it would be bad for us, and nearly all the 
young parrots died. Oh! how homesick we were 
Imagine the change from our lovely home among the 
lianas and other climbing plants, with delicious palm 




Polly and I Have a Talk 


37 


nuts and mangoes and avocats to eat, and the good care 
of parents to the dismal, dirty hold of a ship. To make 
matters worse, a sailor told the dealer that if he would 
slit our tongues we would make better talkers. The 
dealer tried it on one young parrot, who was my 
brother, and he died, and that made him see what 
foolishness it is to maim a bird. When we arrived 
in New York we were nearly dead, and I was sold for 
a very small sum and placed in a bird store.” 

‘Tve been in the port of New York,” I said. “It 
is the distributing place for monkeys in this part of 
the world.” 

“For birds, too,” said the parrot, “and when I 
recovered, an old lady from British Columbia bought 
me.” 

“Where is that place?” I asked. 

“Away across the continent, but still in Canada, and 
it is a warmer country than this, for they play golf 
all the year round, and roses grow out of doors at 
Christmas time.” 

“Do roses grow here at Christmas time?” I inquired. 

Polly cackled. “My friend, we go about in sleighs 
here, for the ground is covered with snow, and there 
are big fires and roasted apples, and fine skating and 
coasting, and, being a monkey, I suppose you won’t 
like it.” 

I said nothing, for I was hoping to be away and 
with my master before the winter came, and the 
parrot being a long-winded bird and having few 
listeners, went on with such a rigmarole about “Bri¬ 
tish Co-lum-bia,” as she pronounced it, which was 
named by Queen “Vic-to-ria,” that I soon wished she 
was in “Je-ri-cho.” 

I gathered that it was a very wonderful country, 
with immense forests and extensive sea coasts, and a 




38 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


string of old women who had owned her, for she had 
been passed from one to another. The first old lady 
had died and left her to a friend who had died and 
left her to another friend, and so on. She hadn’t had 
any adventures at all till one nice old lady had plucked 
up courage enough to travel to Nova Scotia, where she 
died and left Polly to her niece, Mrs. Sandys. 

Later on, whenever I wished to make Polly angry, 
I used to laugh over these old ladies, and she would 
shriek at me and try to strike me with her powerful 
beak. I never thought it any harm, until one day I 
heard Mrs. Sandys reading to her children about the 
wicked boys and girls who made fun of an old man, 
and bears came out of a wood and ate them up. Then 
the truth worked itself into my monkey brain that if 
one ridicules old people, one is punished. 

On this particular morning I was just asking Polly 
whether there weren’t any young people in British 
Columbia, and she was telling me in an indignant way 
that there were plenty of them, when a clear call 
rang from Mrs. Sandys, and I put up a hand to check 
Polly. 

“Children! Children!” the mother was calling, 
“have you said your prayers?” 

She paused there, and must have received some kind 
of answer, for she went on, “and cleaned your teeth, 
and eaten your dulse?” 

At this there were cries of, “Yes, mother! yes, 
mother!” Then a sound of feet trooping downstairs. 

“Have you dulse here?” I asked with interest. 

“Of course,” said Polly. “Everybody eats it. We 
go over to the Bay and get it. There’s lots drying in 
the attic.” 

“And would you believe,” I said, “that in travelling 
I have been in countries where people do not know 




Polly and I Have a Talk 


39 


how delicious seaweed is. My master loves it—Polly, 
I should be so glad to see the children eating.” 

“Very well,” she said good-naturedly, “follow me,” 
and she scrambled down from the rose tree, and led 
the way to some side windows that looked into the 
dining-room. 

“Mrs. Sandys does not like to have me inside while 
meals are going on,” she said. “We will sit on the 
window-sill.” 

What a to-do there was when the children saw me! 
Everyone came and bowed and scraped before me as 
I sat there. One would have thought I was a little 
god in some eastern shrine. 

I liked it, and sat grinning at them until their mother 
made them all go to the table. It was great fun to 
see them disposing of soup plates full of what English 
people call “porridge,” and Americans “cereal” or 
“mush.” They had thick cream on it, then everybody 
got poached eggs, fried potatoes, hot rolls and stewed 
pink rhubarb. What appetites those children had! 

The father sat at the foot of the table and smiled 
at them, but did little talking. “Tell me about him, 
Polly,” I said. “Is that young man a fraud, or is he 
as good as he looks?” 

“He’s better,” she said indignantly, “and he’s the 
very best doctor in Nova Scotia—no, in all Canada. 
Now tell me plainly, what do you think of him?” 

She tried to speak calmly, but her voice trembled, 
and for some reason or other I saw that she wor¬ 
shipped this man. I may say that during the whole 
time I have known Polly, Dr. Sandys is the only 
person in her world that she has not criticized. 

He was very tall and broad-shouldered, and had 
thick brown hair and a sunburnt face, but his eyes 




40 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


were the most wonderful part of him. They were 
very full of light and very deep-set. 

“Just like lovely beaming lanterns in caves,” whis¬ 
pered Polly, “and when he is deeply moved they go 
in farther.” 

“Do you mean when he gets angry?” I asked. 

“He doesn’t get angry,” said Polly; “he just 
suffers.” 

“I’d like to see him suffer,” I said thoughtlessly. 

Polly was so furious that she gave me a good bite, 
and I shrieked and sprang into the room right into 
the arms of the good young doctor. 

How little he dreamed what my excitement was 
about, though I jabbered and pointed to Polly. 

No one understood me but old Nonnie, who was 
coming into the room with more eggs. She narrowed 
her eyes, and gave me a peculiar look that convinced 
me she was one of those rare persons who partly 
understand animal talk. 

Then she held out her arms to me, and springing 
from Dr. Sandys, I went to the kitchen with her. 
She had a fine neat room, for she was a good house¬ 
keeper, but I did not notice that then. I clung to her, 
and as she sat in her nice cushioned rocking-chair and 
swinging to and fro, murmured in my furry ear, “Poor 
baby—all alone jus’ like Nonnie. White folkses don’t 
undercomprehen’ you. Poll parrot has a nassy temper. 
Me an’ monkey is good,” and she stroked me and fed 
me lumps of sugar. 

She did not put me down till there were cries of, 
“Nonnie, where’s my geography—Nonnie, did you see 
my history?” 

“The chillens are in a hurry,” said the good old 
woman softly; “you can come to Nonnie afterwards. 
Remember, she is always your frien’.” 




Polly and I Have a Talk 


4 i 


I looked around. Polly was standing on the ledge 
of the kitchen window croaking an apology, and as she 
had not broken the skin on my leg, as I was at first 
afraid she had done, I forgave her, and leaped out to 
the ledge beside her. 

I easily forget things, and I was curious about this 
family, so I listened eagerly when she said, “The chil¬ 
dren are going to school, and the house will be as quiet 
as death until they all come shouting home this after¬ 
noon.” 

“Don’t they come at noon?” 

“No, it’s too far. They take their lunches. See 
what toothsome things their mother and Nonnie are 
putting in those baskets. Did you ever see such dried- 
apple pie ?—and look at those buttered rolls and cheese 
sandwiches 1” 

“I can’t get the children straightened out,” I said, 
“except Rachel. Won’t you tell me which is which?” 

“The biggest boy, the one with the red sweater on, 
and the long legs and arms sticking out every which 
way, is just Rachel’s age—twelve, and is called La¬ 
ment, which is an old family name. The next child is 
Mara, short for Martha. She is the little one with 
big dark eyes like saucers. She adores Rachel, and 
is always by her side, not talking much, but thinking 
a lot.” 

“Just like my master,” I said. 

“Your master is a real MacHadra,” said Polly 
severely, “and not at all like the Sandys family.” 

“His mother was a sister of this nice mother,” I 
said, but very meekly, for I remembered her sharp old 
beak. 

“The mother part has been all educated out of 
him,” said Polly peevishly, “but do stop interrupting 




42 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


me. How can I tell you about these children if you 
keep monkeying in?” 

I grinned and held my tongue, but remembered to 
remember as she went on. 

“Next to Mara comes Ollie, short for Ollersett. He 
is the fat roly-poly boy, and he is good-nature itself 
except when you cross him. Then last, but not least, 
is Benjie, the baby, and the best boy in the world. 
Don’t you think they are a pretty fine lot of children?” 

“Remarkable,” I said enthusiastically. “They all 
look so healthy.” 

“Why should they get ill?” asked Polly. “They 
have good parents, good drinking water, good food, 
good air. Their father is ashamed if one of them has 
to go to bed. It’s a disgrace to him. What’s a father 
for but to keep his little flock in first-rate condition ?” 

“Some fathers don’t think that,” I said. 

“Proper fathers do,” said Polly, then she began to 
squawk, “Good-bye, good-bye, children. Study hard 
and come home soon to your own Polly Shillaber.” 

“What are you calling yourself?” I asked. 

“Just my name. I’m Polly Shillaber Sandys. 
Shillaber is an old family name.” 

“I like that,” I said; “may I call you Polly 
Shillaber?” 

“I should be delighted,” she said with dignity. 
“Most persons forget it, and I like it, for plain Polly 
is so very common.” 

I was about to say something, but had to wait, for 
the children were on us like an avalanche. I was 
kissed and hugged till Polly Shillaber screamed 
jealously, “I’m a darling, a darling,” and then she 
was petted too. 

How those children begged to take me to school 
with them, but their mother just laughed and drove 




Polly and I Have a Talk 


43 


them all down the street, first embracing them 
affectionately. 

“Well,” I said, breathing hard as I looked after 
them, “I wish I had their go and speed.” 

“You might have,” said Polly, “if you didn’t break 
the laws of health.” 

“What do you mean ?” I inquired. 

“Will you promise not to get cross and run away 
if I tell you?” 

“Certainly,” I responded, “if you won’t bite me 
again.” 

She fixed me with a glittering yellow eye and said, 
“I noticed you last night, and you ate too much. You 
were patting your stomach before you went to bed. 
Then this morning you ate too much again,” 

“Why did you offer so much to me?” I asked. 

“Well, you are my guest in a way, but now having 
bitten you, I consider you a member of the family, 
and I warn you that you should put a rein on your 
appetite.” 

“And you should bridle your temper,” I said saucily, 
then I edged off, for I was afraid I would get another 
nip. 

However, Polly was not cranky all the time, and 
now she only chuckled. She stopped, however, when 
she saw a man driving down the street in a sulky. 
“There’s Mr. Brown from the station,” she said, “and 
he is taking a telegram from his pocket. I hope the 
children’s grandfather is not ill. He’s a pretty old 
man.” 




Chapter V 


What was in the Telegram 


At this instant Mrs. Sandys came out on the veranda, 
and she grew pale when she saw the telegram. 

“How strange,” I thought, “to be so worked up 
about a telegram. My master gets lots of them, but 
he never grows pale.” 

You see I forgot I was in another world from the 
one in which my dear master lived. 

Mrs. Sandys took the telegram from the man, who 
waited, quite naturally, to hear what was in it. 

Polly and I scurried round to the tanbark yard at 
the side of the house where Dr. Sandys was just lead¬ 
ing a fine-looking piebald horse out from the stable 
to curry him in the sunshine. 

His wife handed him the telegram and he read it, the 
horse staring over his shoulder in quite an interested 
way. Then Dr. Sandys gave his wife the yellow paper. 

“Had accident,” she read, “left arm broken. May 
I come to you?—Napier MacHadra.” 

Oh! my poor sister’s boy,” she said, and tears came 
to her eyes. 

Her husband looked at her, so did the man who 
had brought the telegram, and another young man 
who came out of the stable. I found out afterwards 
he was a neighbor’s son called Henry, and he helped 
Dr. Sandys with the work about the place. 

I felt quite calm and cool at first, and stared about 
me. Then a dreadful feeling came over me. Break¬ 
ing his arm would put a stop to my master’s business. 
He would be nearly crazy, and he must be hard up 
44 




What was in the Telegram 


45 


for money, or he would not come to a place that he 
had always shunned. 

“He’s got to come here at last,” said the parrot in 
my ear. “Poor boy! How sorry we are for him.” 

My feelings were all on edge, and I turned irritably 
to her. “What are you sorry about? My master is 
the best young man in the world.” 

Polly looked at me strangely. “You come round 
the corner of the house with me,” she said, “and I’ll 
tell you something.” 

“Wait a bit,” I said. “I want to know what they 
are going to do.” 

“To do?” she repeated, “why, of course, they are 
going to tell the dear fellow to come here as quick 
as he can. Haven’t they been trying to catch him 
for years?” 

She was right. Dr. Sandys was writing the telegram 
begging Master Nappy to come as soon as he could. 

“Oh! Polly Shillaber,” I jabbered. “I am so glad. 
My dear, dear master. I can scarcely wait to see him. 
Oh! I am so happy, but—” and I recollected myself— 
“I hate to have him suffer.” 

“He won’t suffer much,” said Polly. “The Doctor 
sets lots of broken arms. Now you come here. I 
want to talk to you. Do you mind if I fly a bit? 
I’m very awkward when I walk, for my legs are so 
short, but I’m beautiful when I fly.” 

“Fly all you like,” I said. “Don’t you suppose I 
can keep up with you? There are monkeys so agile 
that they can catch birds on the wing.” 

“Not like you,” she said rather disdainfully. 

“I can bite as well as they can,” I said, showing 
my strong white teeth just to overawe her, “and I 
can leap forcefully and rapidly, even though I don’t 




46 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


go forty feet, as the agile gibbons do when bounding 
from bough to bough.” 

“Oh, well! never mind your agile gibbons,” she said, 
“but run me a race to the cemetery,” and spreading 
her really lovely grey wings she went off flying in 
scalloping loops just like the wild black and yellow 
goldfinches in front of her. 

I had put her on her mettle, and she beat me, but 
I wasn’t long behind her. You see, I knew the way, 
for it was the same grassy path that I had taken with 
young Rachel the night before. However, it looked 
differently this morning with the sun upon it, and there 
were creatures about that had been asleep the night 
before, notably the hens. They had come out of the 
hen-house behind the barn and were picking their way 
daintily about the orchard, for hens do good work in 
keeping grubs from fruit trees, I soon found out. 

They were all of the glossy reddish breed of the 
Rhode Island Reds. Their rooster shrieked to his hens 
as I went by to run for shelter as there was a strange 
brute about, but I shouted to him, “A friend, brother!” 
and he recalled them. 

When I reached Polly she was perched on one of 
the stone cemetery gates. “Come up here beside me,” 
she said; “it is most agreeably cool.” 

I swung myself up, and sat rubbing my limbs 
excitedly with my long fingers. 

“Well! well!” said Polly, “this is a great occasion- 
just how great you do not know.” 

“Do you mean my master’s coming?” I asked. 

Precisely, said the old parrot, for now that she 
was in the full light of the sun I could see that her 
beak was pretty horny, and her claws had seen their 
best days. 

“Look there,” she said, turning suddenly round. 




What was in the Telegram 


47 


I followed her gaze and saw that she was staring 
at the two flower-covered graves where the little girl 
had paused the night before. 

“There lie the parents of your master,” she said. 

“Yes,” I replied, “I know that.” 

“His mother was the sister of good Mrs. Sandys,” 
said Polly, “and a beautiful young woman.” 

“What was she like inside?” I asked. 

“Very gay and lively, and sweet. To make you 
understand her I shall have to cross the province and 
tell you about Mrs. Sandys’ father.” 

I tried not to smile. This parrot certainly liked to 
talk. “All right,” I remarked, “go ahead, I love 
creatures to tell me stories.” 

Polly drew a long breath. “Mrs. Sandys’ father is 
a remarkable old man, and as I have told you, he lives 
across the province.” 

“What do you mean by province?” I asked. 

“Nova Scotia, of course—well, old Mrs. Sandys 


“Now, Polly,” I interrupted, “if Mrs. Sandys’ hus¬ 
band is a Sandys, how can her father be one, too?” 

“Because the province is full of Sandyses,” she said, 
“and the world is full of them—just like the parrots. 
There are five hundred different kinds of us. They 
are the greatest family that lives, and Mrs. Sandys 
married her fifth cousin once removed.” 

“Just like the monkey family,” I said; “there are 
spider monkeys, and woolly monkeys, and squirrel 

monkeys, and howling monkeys, and-” 

Here Polly gave me such a dreadful look that I had 
to stop. Then she went on. “Grandfather Sandys is 
a dear, and so is his wife. If you could see their old 
house standing at the top of a village street staring 
down at his sawmill, which is the biggest in the world. 






Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Grandmother Sandys has a closet under the stairs. 
Tamarinds-” 

“Not tamarinds,” I interrupted. 

“Yes, real tamarinds, all gummy and nice, and they 
put them in a pitcher with cold water from the well 
over them, and such a drink as they make on a hot 
summer day.” 

“I know, I know,” I gurgled; “Ive drunk tamarind 
water many a time.” 

“And in the closet are ginger cookies,” went on 
Polly, “the nice fat old-fashioned kind, and heaps of 
lumps of white sugar. When I was a young parrot 
the sugar used to come in cones from the West Indies 
and it was broken with a hatchet, but now it is in 
cubes. Then there are bottles of lime juice, and jars 
of guava jelly-” 

Oh! hush,” I said, “you make me homesick for 
foreign voyages and my master.” 

She looked at me kindly, then she went on, “Grand¬ 
father Sandys builds ships and they go to the West 
Indies, and if any of the family are not well, they 
have a trip. When the ships come back they bring all 
these beautiful things to eat. Down by the store near 
the mill are great big hogsheads, and when all the 
molasses is out, the children crawl in and lick the sugar 
off the sides. They are a very sweet retreat on a hot 
day.” 

“Sounds attractive,” I said. “I’d like to go there.” 

“Wait till summer comes. Grandfather Sandys 
drives over and gets the family. He does not like 
the train. He says country roads are good enough for 
him, for he remembers when there were no railways 
in Nova Scotia. You see, his home is not like this 
fertile valley. His part of the South Shore has lots 
of fishing, and hunting, and shipbuilding, and high 





What was in the Telegram 


49 


rocky shores, but also very quiet bays with sand 
beaches where the children bathe.” 

“Just like the country about the little city we passed 
through in coming here,” I said. 

“Exactly; that is the city of Halifax you saw, and 
it is on the same coast as Grandfather’s house. Now 
I’ll tell you something about the family. When this 
Mrs. Sandys here, whose name is the old English one 
of Ales, was a young girl at home, a very fascinating 
stranger came travelling through the country bearing 
a letter of introduction to her father. Her father did 
not like him, but her sister Jenny did, and ran away 
with him and married him.” 

“Was the fascinating stranger Master Nappy’s 
father?” I asked excitedly. 

“Just so, and he took Miss Jenny to Europe. In 
a few years she came back without him. She never 
said a word against her husband, but I have heard 

people talk-” and Polly lowered her voice lest any 

of the birds sitting on near-by branches might listen 
and repeat gossip. 

“Oh! dear,” I said, “I suppose you are telling me 
that my beloved master had a father who was not 
just what he ought to be.” 

“That’s it,” said Polly, “and I don’t like to say it, 
but everybody knows that some boys and girls have 
parents who are not as honorable as the good Sandyses. 
I just hate to hurt your feelings, poor little lonely 
monkey, but perhaps some day you can do some¬ 
thing to help your master.” 

“When my master’s mother died,” I said, “why did 
she not give the little boy to her sister to bring up 
as well as the little girl?” 

“She did,” said Polly, “but your master ran away. 
He loved his father and was trying to find him. No- 


D 




50 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


body is wholly bad, and though your Master Nappy’s 
father did his best to educate his boy, the boy imitated 
him. A lad’s dearest school-book is his father’s life. 
When the poor father came back here to lay himself 
down in this quiet grave, the mischief was done. The 
boy was like him, but I hope now he is caught that 
the good Dr. and Mrs. Sandys can change him.” 

“You must not bully my master,” I said. 

“Bully him,” repeated Polly wonderingly; “no one 
wants to do that, but surely you would like to see 
him respectable and settling down in a nice place like 
this.” 

“What is it to be respectable?” I asked. 

“For one thing, it is not to steal,” said Polly 
severely. “You know your master is not honest.” 

“Depends upon your point of view,” I said. “The 
world owes him a living.” 

“That’s a naughty thing to say,” remarked Polly. 
“The world owes everybody a living, but it must be 
an honest living. I have heard Dr. Sandys say that 
many a time.” 

“I don’t believe you and I think alike,” I said. 

“We certainly don’t,” said Polly crossly, “if you 
stand up for your master. It seems to me that you 
are an amiable little monkey, but twisted in your 
morals.” 

“Monkeys often are,” I said lightly, “and I’d rather 
be bad and amiable than good and cranky the way 
you are.” 

“You’ll live to change that opinion,” said Polly, “if 
you stay here long.” 

How I laughed at her, never dreaming that her 
prophecy would come true—then, feeling full of glee 
on account of the beautiful weather and the knowledge 
that my beloved boy would soon be within reach of 




What was in the Telegram 


5i 


my little black hands, I began to caper about and get 
acquainted with my surroundings. 

Polly watched me anxiously, and when she saw me 
tearing up the maple tree to look in the robin’s nest, 
she remarked, “You wouldn’t rob a bird’s nest, would 
you?” 

“Not unless I was starving,” I replied. “I like 
pretty birds, and their songs amuse me.” 

“You’re queer,” said Polly; “you don’t stop from 
doing anything because it would be wrong, but because 
it does not please you to do it. However, you are 
naturally kind-hearted, and that helps a lot, but 
remember one thing—the Sandyses are all devoted to 
birds, and if you were to hurt one you would be sent 
away.” 

“I won’t hurt the birdies,” I laughed, “and as for 
my master—he once knocked a man down on ship¬ 
board because he was teasing a canary.” 

“That’s the right spirit,” said Polly, “though I don’t 
know what Dr. Sandys would say about knocking a 
man down. The birds are his especial care, and he 
was the one who started bringing the children up to 
this cemetery to make a bird sanctuary.” 

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. 

“Summer and winter this is a place for birds,” said 
Polly. “There are nesting-boxes on the trees, and 
little pools of water for them to bathe in, and food is 
often put out for them. Dr. Sandys says that if there 
were no birds in the world to eat the insect pests 
on the trees, all green things would die, and then all 
the people in the world would die too. We owe a 
great debt of gratitude to the birds. The children 
are taught this, and one reason they are so good to 
them all over this valley is because they know that 




52 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


if it were not for the bird beaks, they would have to 
go out and search for the insects themselves.” 

“I never knew that before,” I said. “How inter¬ 
esting.” 

“You see, monkey,” said Polly, “if you sucked birds’ 
eggs, then in the autumn you would have no nice fruit 
to eat.” 

I can never explain to anyone how queer this 
information sounded to me. I had never been taught 
to think of the future—all my teaching had been to 
grab what you could get, spend it, then steal some 
more. 

“Polly,” I said, “I like this talk, but I don’t know 
whether I can live up to it.” 

“You must try, little monkey,” she said, “and I will 
help you. I saw you put your head on one side just 
now to listen to the lovely song of that white-throat 
over there singing ‘I love Canada, Canada, Canada!’ 
Now if the bird were frightened of you, he would not 
sing, but would fly away. These trees are full of 
beautiful songsters, and later on in the morning, when 
they get their young ones fed, we shall have a won¬ 
derful concert. They see you are with me, and that 
assures them you are a friend.” 

Somehow or other this remark made me feel humble, 
and I said, “Polly, I believe it would be easy for me 
to behave except for these little black fingers. They 
just can’t help stealing anything that takes their 
fancy.” 

“Don’t I know that?” she said somewhat scornfully. 
“Didn’t I see you hiding some of my sugar lumps 
behind the rose leaves?” 

“Did you notice that?” I asked. 

“Indeed I did. I am not as stupid as you think.” 




What was in the Telegram 


53 


“Master Nappy would give me a great tongue- 
lashing if he knew I had been seen/’ I said. 

“Oh! dear, dear,” said Polly, “that is just where 
you and your master are all wrong. It isn’t the being 
caught that counts, monkey; it’s the doing the wrong 
thing.” 

“What a comical old bird you are,” I said mock¬ 
ingly. “If you can change my master you will be 
pretty clever. There’s no use in my changing without 
him.” 

“Perhaps if you turn honest you can help change 
him,” said Polly; “animals often help human beings.” 

I laughed gleefully at the very idea of anyone think¬ 
ing they could make over that peculiar lad who owned 
me. 

Polly understood me and said solemnly, “If he 
doesn’t reform, there’s only one thing can happen to 
him.” 

“What is that?” I asked curiously, “go to the poor- 
house ?” 

“Go to prison,” she said sadly. 

“He’s never been caught yet,” I said proudly. 

“He’s sowing prison seed,” said the good old bird. 
“He’ll have to reap, little monkey, he’ll have to reap 
the harvest.” 

I didn’t understand her then, so I began to cut up 
tricks till I had her bursting with laughter. 

She made me come away from the cemetery, for 
she said though Dr. Sandys had made it a very happy 
place, it was always quiet, and the children were never 
allowed to play games there. 

“All right,” I said, and I ran her a race to the house. 
Nice black Nonnie was in the kitchen perspiring over 
a pot full of doughnuts on the stove. This took me 
back to a certain ship’s galley, and I told Polly an 




54 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


interesting story about a cook who was an American 
negro and who made fried cakes that melted in your 
mouth. 

Nonnie, seeing us, made two tiny doughnuts, and we 
sat on the kitchen window and ate them and watched 
what went on in the yard. 

Dr. Sandys was out there helping Henry clean 
harness. They had all the leather on a table, for I 
soon found out that this family did as much of their 
work as possible out of doors. Farmers going by 
often dropped in and had a chat with them. I may 
as well say here that what impressed me more than 
anything else in this wonderful valley was that the 
people laughed so easily. I never in my short life 
had heard so much singing and jolly laughter as I 
heard during my first week in the village. Nobody 
hurried, but everybody kept going somewhere or doing 
something. Out in the world I had been used to a 
hurrying, driving life unless one was on shipboard, 
and everybody had an anxious air. Here faces were 
calm and interested, and anyone would stop and talk 
about any other one’s affairs. It was certainly very 
friendly. What a joke it would be if I should turn 
into a quiet, home-loving monkey and never steal 
again. I did not like being found out. This was 
very serious, and these country birds were not as 
unobserving as I had thought they were. How would 
my master take them? Oh! how would he get on 
here? I could scarcely wait to find out. 

I thought so hard that I did not hear Polly speaking 
to me, and finally she said, “You are dead tired. Come 
and I will show you a quiet nook where no child can 
find you.” 





Chapter VI 


Rachel Calls at the Parsonage 


Polly Shillaber conducted me to a place high up 
on that roomy veranda in front of the house. It was 
close to the sloping roof, and an aged Virginia creeper 
had twisted its big trunk in such a way that it formed 
a sort of cradle. 

When I looked at this retreat a bit doubtfully, Polly 
croaked kindly, “I know what is the matter with you. 
I am forgetting that you are not a bird, and cannot 
perch as I do. You want something to lie on.” 

I warmly grunted my thanks, and told her of my 
times on shipboard when I would scamper up to the 
masthead and make a bed in the fold of a sail, or if 
the sails happened to be set, I would steal a sailor’s 
shirt and curl up on it. 

/‘Come with me,” she said, and she led me to a 
hall closet. 

On the way I saw a shawl of Mrs. Sandys’, but she 
would not let me touch it. “Here is an old coat of 
one of the boys,” she said; “he will not be wearing it 
this warm day.” 

It made an ideal bed, and I folded myself up and 
slept like a log of a monkey till half the day had passed. 
You see, I was worn out with my travels. When I 
woke up there was good old Polly watching me. 

I winked my eyes and yawned, then grinned at her. 
“I believe you like me, bird,” I said, “though you scold 
me.” 

“You are a perfect godsend to me,” she said. “All 
the pet creatures about here belong to this part of the 
55 




56 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


world, and until you came I did not know how much 
I longed for some animal from foreign parts. You 
speak my language, but these Canadian creatures are 
cold when I speak of Asia and Africa, though they 
are polite enough to listen—by the way, what kind of 
a monkey are you?” 

“I’m a Garnerian monkey,” I said, “named for a 
scientist who went to Western Africa to study apes, 
monkeys, and lemurs. He discovered a new group in 
the guenon family.” 

“You certainly have a pretty face,” said Polly, “with 
your human flesh tints. Are there many more like 
you ?” 

“Alas! no,” I said. “After the death of the scientist, 
men hunted us, and we were thinned out. My mother 
was one of the few left—but it is a painful subject. 
Won’t you tell me what the children have been doing 
while I have been asleep?” 

“They came from school a little while ago,” she 
said, “and brought every child in the village to see 
you, but they could not find you and went home. Now 
this family is having afternoon tea out on the back 
lawn.” 

“What a glorious family you are,” I said. “You 
eat all the time. If I had thought about the matter, I 
should have guessed that you would be like Americans 
and not have afternoon tea.” 

“Oh! we are very English here,” said Polly proudly. 
“This family all came from Wiltshire originally, but 
you had better not say anything against Americans. 
The Sandyses travelled from the Old Country by way 
of the United States of America, and there are lots of 
Sandyses in Boston and New York and even in San 
Francisco.” 

“I wasn’t saying anything against Americans,” I 




Rachel Calls at the Parsonage 


57 


hastened to tell this new friend of mine. ‘‘I merely 
remarked that they are not as fond of afternoon tea 
as English people are. I love Americans. They are 
so free with their money, and good losers, too—don’t 
squeal as loud as Old Worlders.” 

“Now you are going to talk about stealing again, I 
do declare,” said Polly. “Come along to the children. 
They have been screaming for you, but Mrs. Sandys 
guessed that you were sleeping, and would not let them 
hunt too long for you.” 

I gambolled after her, and she led me to a place that 
I had not seen before. It was a bit of level lawn 
down by the brook at the back of the house, and near 
a rose garden that reminded me of the lovely walled-in 
spots of England. In the middle of the lawn was a 
rustic table with small chairs about it. Dr. Sandys 
sat in one of the chairs, and the children were sitting 
on the grass, Mrs. Sandys was pouring the tea that 
was weak, for she put lots of cream in it and hot 
water. 

What I liked best was a plate of rock cakes, but no 
child got a cake until a certain number of slices of 
bread and butter were eaten. Little Benjie, when we 
arrived, was saying with tears running down his red 
cheeks, “Mudder, mudder, Benjie has eated so much 
of dat ole bread dat he can’t hold a cakie.” 

Rachel, balancing herself on one leg like a water- 
bird, was standing near her aunt, and eating and drink¬ 
ing so calmly that I guessed she had not heard the 
news of her brother’s accident. 

“She is to be told when she finishes her tea,” whis¬ 
pered Polly in my ear, “otherwise she would make a 
scene. Did you ever see anyone eat so much bread 
and butter? She certainly has a famous appetite.” 

Rachel at this moment caught sight of me, and 




5» 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


precipitated herself upon me crying, “My own monkey- 
doodles, where have you been?” 

“Don’t squeeze him too hard,” warned her aunt. 
“Now put him down beside me. I have something to 
tell you.” 

The mother’s tone warned the children that some¬ 
thing interesting was coming, and they stopped pawing 
me, looking toward her with round eyes. They all 
had brown eyes—indeed, the Sandyses were a brown 
lot—eyes, skin and hair. 

“Girlie,” said Mrs. Sandys kindly, “do you remem¬ 
ber last summer when I forbade you to shake the 
greengage plum tree, that you used to sit under and 
hold out your apron for a ripe plum to fall in it?” 

Rachel smiled all over her face. “Yes, Auntie, and 
one day a beauty fell down—the biggest on the tree.” 

“I have a plum for you now, a very big one,” said 
her aunt. “Someone that you love very much is com¬ 
ing to see you.” 

“Grandfather Sandys,” exclaimed Rachel. 

“No, dear.” 

“Grandmother or one of the aunts?” 

“No.” 

“Uncle Lemuel and Aunt Martha, cousin Jacob?” 
and she went over a long list of family names. 

“No, dearest—whom do you love better than anyone 
in the world ?” 

“Not brother?” cried Rachel, and she stopped 
hopping up and down, and stood stock still with her 
beautiful but wide mouth wide open. 

“Yes, your own brother; he will be here this evening 
before your bedtime.” 

“Oh! Rejoice, my heart, rejoice!” squealed the little 
girl, and she began to run round and round the lawn 
until she excited the other children so much that they 




Rachel Calls at the Parsonage 


59 


stopped eating, and getting up joined her in her queer 
foot-race. 

The Sandyses were not graceful, but they were 
energetic, and the two parents surveyed them as 
approvingly as if they had been fairies. 

Nonnie, coming out with a fresh supply of rock 
cakes, stood with the plate in her hand, and grinning 
from ear to ear. She had known all day about her 
Master Nappy. 

Rachel at last shrieked out, “This calls for action, 
Auntie. May I take the children up to tell the gracious 
news to the Methodist minister’s wife?” 

Dr. Sandys’ shoulders began to shake, and Mrs. 
Sandys sat back in her chair and laughed openly. 

“May we go, Auntie-Mother?” cried Rachel. “Oh! 
say the good word.” 

Mrs. Sandys choked out a “Yes, dear,” then Rachel 
at the head of her troop started out running and leap¬ 
ing up the lawn to the street. 

When they were all out of sight, but not out of 
sound, the words came floating back to us: 

“Oh! my brother, did you come for to help me ? 

Oh! my brother, did you come for to help me? 

Oh! give me your right hand.” 

Dr. Sandys gave a kind of happy groan. “That 
poor long-suffering woman.” 

“What does he mean?” I whispered to Polly. 

“The Methodist minister’s wife. Rachel loves her, 
and sometimes two or three times a day she sweeps up 
there with the children—come on, don’t you want to 
follow her?” 

“Indeed I do,” I said. “I think Rachel is a dream.” 

“She’s a nightmare, sometimes,” grumbled Polly; 
“but you can’t help liking the child—come on, hurry 





6o 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


after me,” and she flew out to the street, and from 
tree to tree along the maples that bordered it. 

It was a quiet street now in the late afternoon, a 
few buggies and wagons were passing up and down, 
and sometimes a man, woman or child strolled along 
the broad sidewalk under the trees. I sprang from 
branch to branch, while Polly checked her flight so she 
could keep beside me. We could hear Rachel hooting 
her joy-song away up ahead of us, and presently she 
darted up one of the garden paths to a pale yellow 
house at the end of a lane of lilacs. 

Polly and I skirmished along a picket fence, and 
watched a white-haired lady with glasses on who came 
to the door and smiled upon Rachel and her cousins. 

Rachel threw herself into her arms, and Polly 
chuckled, “Always sure of her welcome, like a little 
pet dog.” 

As Rachel told her wonderful news, the lady held up 
her fine head of white hair, and looked kindly at her; 
then her gaze wandered to Polly and to me, for we had 
come boldly up to the end of the picket fence. 

“Why, what have we got here?” she asked, staring 
at me through her glasses. 

Rachel turned round. “Oh! monkey, darling 
monkey, my brother’s Jimmy Gold-Coast, come and 
see one of our best friends,” and she held out her arms 
to me. 

The Methodist minister’s wife caressed me, but 
rather gingerly, until little Benjie observed sweetly, 
“Does I smell cookies bakin’?” 

“Yes, my child,” said the lady; “do come in and 
bring this curious small creature.” 

“I’m Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines!” yelled 
Polly jealously. “I feed my horse on corn and beans 1” 

“Poor Polly,” said this nice woman. “I must not 




Rachel Calls at the Parsonage 


61 


neglect old friends,” and she took Polly on her arm 
while we all trooped out to her bright, clean kitchen. 

I had the seat of honor in the high chair by the 
window where one could see all the passing in the 
street, and after I had stuffed myself with cookies, I 
said to Polly who was perched on the back of my chair, 
“How those children do eat.” 

“This is nothing to what they can do,” she replied. 
“Sometimes it really seems as if they must be hollow. 
However, they will have to go home now. Here comes 
Millie.” 

“Who is Millie?” I asked. 

She began to chuckle in her hoarse but very distinct 
way. “Millie is Millie. Wait till you see her.” 




Chapter VII 


Nonnie and Her Brother 


A fat white fox-terrier was sagging up the road, and 
on arriving at the parsonage, she turned in the gate 
and up by the stocks and sweet-williams to the front 
door. 

We could hear her feet padding over the linoleum 
in the hall, and in an instant she entered the kitchen, 
and with a sweeping glance round it, went up to 
Rachel and took the hem of her dress in her teeth. 

“That means, ‘come home,’ ” said Polly, and sure 
enough Rachel was taking leave of her kind hostess 
whose name I found out was Mrs. Wiltshire. 

I like dogs if they don’t tease me, and I examined 
this one. “How is it I have not seen her before?” I 
asked. 

“She was sick and out in the barn,” said Polly. 
“She has a disease called ‘Greeditis.’ Hear her 
growl.” 

Mrs. Wiltshire was patting her, and to my surprise 
paid no attention to the dreadful noises coming from 
Millie’s mouth. 

“She’s just full of growl,” said Polly. “I never saw 
anything like her, but she never bites.” 

“I’ve known people like that,” I said. 

“So have I,” said Polly, who never wished me to 
get ahead of her. “They’re harmless though not 
agreeable—I think I’ll go home on Lament’s shoul¬ 
der,” and she flew to the boy’s red sweater. 

“And I’ll go with that quiet little Mara,” I said, 
and I made a leap past Rachel to her cousin’s side. 

62 




Nonnie and Her Brother 


63 


Mara, who had big brown eyes with long lashes, 
blushed with pleasure, and took me on her arm while 
I watched Rachel closely. The little girl was dis¬ 
appointed. I was her monkey, and I was new, but 
after one flash of surprise, she beamed on the child, 
and showed her how to hold me nicely. 

“This Rachel is a child who tries to do the square 
thing,” I signalled to Polly, and Polly, who was in a 
good humor, began to sing shrilly: 

“Oh! walk togedder, chillen. 

Don’t yer get weary; 

Gwine to have a happy meeting 
Don’t yer get weary, 

Oh! pat yer foot, chillen, 

Dere’s a great camp meetin* in de 
Promised Land.” 

Our walk down the street soon turned into a proces¬ 
sion, for other children heard the singing and ran out 
from the houses. Nearly everybody was at supper, 
but that made no difference when it was found out that 
there was a monkey going by. Rachel did not dare to 
stop, for if she did, Millie seized her frock, and bracing 
herself on her white paws threatened to tear it. 

“The dog has her orders from Mrs. Sandys,” said 
Polly. “If Rachel delays when she is sent for, and 
her dress is torn, she is punished. The child is a great 
visitor—too friendly by far, when a parrot is weary 
and wants to get home.” 

The village children left us when we arrived at our 
own gate, and went jumping and playing back to their 
own homes and then our own particular lambs went 
to their supper table, and actually had the audacity 
to put in their red mouths a goodly supply of parsley 
omelet, young radishes, hot potatoes swimming in 




64 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

melted butter, and saucers of preserved quince with 
cream. 

Somehow or other, I was not hungry, and as I sat 
with Polly in our old place on the window ledge, I 
said: “Do they never eat meat?” 

“Won’t touch it,” replied Polly. “They’d starve, 
I believe, before they would taste one of their own 
chickies. They used to eat hens that were not pets, 
until one day when Mrs. Wiltshire had Rachel in to 
Sunday dinner. The child was sitting at the table 
plying her knife and fork quite happily, when Mrs. 
Wiltshire happened to say something about Mrs. 
Sandys’ kindness in sending her this nice fat chicken 
for dinner. 

“'Did she send you one of our chickens?’ asked 
Rachel, dropping her knife and fork. 

“Mrs. Wiltshire said it had been a nice little Rhode 
Island Red, and Rachel cried out that it was her 
Susie—she had missed her the night before when she 
went to put her to bed, but at least she could give 
her burial. Not thinking of what she was doing, the 
child in her grief seized the platter in both hands, 
dashed out to the street and ran home as fast as she 
could, with gravy and bits of stuffing dropping down 
all over her dress. 

“Mrs. Wiltshire, thinking the excitable child had 
gone crazy, hurried after her, and Mr. Wiltshire, 
more in the dark than his wife, hurried after them 
both. 

“I was sitting here in the dining-room watching the 
family having their dinner, when Rachel and the Wilt- 
shires came rushing in one after the other. You should 
have heard the jigamaree—every one trying to explain, 
and every one puzzled but Rachel. There sat Mrs! 
Sandys staring at poor Susie’s remains, and wondering 




Nonnie and Her Brother 65 

how they came to be conveyed to her in this extraordi¬ 
nary manner. 

“At last Rachel got them all to understand, and 
every young Sandys left the table and went to the 
garden where they had a fine funeral for Susie. The 
Wiltshires sat down and had dinner with Dr. and 
Mrs. Sandys, and as these older people are great 
friends the thing worked out very well—and do you 
know these children put flowers on Susie’s grave to 
this day!” 

“Their hearts seem as big as their appetites,” I 
said, “and that reminds me, you are not eating, Polly 
Shillaber.” 

“I’m not hungry,” she said. 

“I think you stuffed yourself with that big ginger 
cookie you ate,” I said teasingly, for I had not for¬ 
gotten that she had rebuked me for greediness. 

“I think I did,” she said confidentially, “and it was 
hard work, for I do not really like them.” 

“Then why do you eat them?” I asked. 

“Because Mrs. Wiltshire puts a suspicion of Cay¬ 
enne pepper in her cookies, and I know that is good 
for the red in my tail. Perhaps you have seen the 
handsome reddish-colored canaries that are color fed.” 

“Yes, I have, but I would not think that you would 
be so-” 

“Vain,” she went on irritably; “you might as well 
say it out.” 

“And your tail is really very bright now,” I said. 

“But I am getting old,” said Polly, “and it would 
break my heart if I lost my color.” 

Most unfortunately I laughed here. Who would 
care what the color of this old parrot’s tail was, and 
I was chuckling and jabbering agreeably when I felt 
a good blow on the side of my head. 


E 





66 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Polly had struck me in a tender place near my ear, 
and being something like Rachel, I did not stop to 
think, and giving an angry grunt, I reached out and 
seized one of these same precious tail feathers in my 
hand. 

Again I was unfortunate, for it came out. Polly 
looked at me in horror, then she gave chase. Being 
new in the place, I did not lead her outdoors, as 
I should have done, but into the room, and before 
I knew what I was doing I was gambolling over the 
supper table. I felt food and dishes giving way, but 
I did not stop to see the extent of the damage, for the 
avenger was on my track, and not until I got among 
the maple trees outside was I safe. 

There I dodged Polly among the tree trunks and, 
I am sorry to say, that still being an unregenerate 
little monkey, I made faces at her, and mocked her till 
she was nearly crazy. Sticking the red feather in my 
mouth like a cigar while she yelled dreadful threats 
at me, I screamed in our own animal language, “Go to 
the bargain counter, and change your temper.” 

She harangued me in human language, as she 
wished the Sandys family.to hear. “Bears who live 
in the vault come down from the mountain. They 
chase bad things. Polly will tell the bears. Poor 
Polly wants her feather.” 

I thought she was telling a story about the bears, 
but later on I found out that there were plenty of 
them on the mountain, and they did live in the deep 
ravines that the valley people called vaults. 

“Polly wants her feather, poor Polly,” she cried 
so often and so pitifully that at last I pitched the red 
thing at her, and she caught it and flew to her retreat 
on the veranda with it. 

By this time, the whole family had come outside to 




Nonnie and Her Brother 67 

stare up among the tree branches at us, and Dr. 
Sandys appeared very thoughtful. 

"I cannot have our dear old parrot bullied,” he 
said. 

I ran to him. I pointed after Polly Shillaber, then 
to my ear, and Nonnie, who had come behind him 
and was standing with her hands on her broad hips, 
chuckled and said, “Docta Sandys, dat parrot, she’s 
plumb aggravatin’. I see her box dat monkey’s ear. 
He got a better control of hisself dan Miss Polly has. 
You jus’ let ’em alone. De smartes’, he come on top.” 

“The smartest,” repeated Dr. Sandys, “then you 
think the monkey will lead?” 

“I jus’ sure, Docta—monkeys dey come nex’ us 
humans. Nobody knows what dey know,” and she 
rolled her eyes horribly. 

I was pleased with Nonnie, and running to her I 
drew off her cap and rubbed her nice kinky wool. 

“You see dat, Docta,” she said solemnly. “He 
underclews everythin’ you say. You jus’ let monkey 
alone,” and taking me in her arms, and followed by 
the whole tribe of children she went into the kitchen 
and sitting down in her big cushioned rocking-chair, 
swayed to and fro and hugged me to her. 

I just loved Nonnie, and as she sang, my fingers 
that are very restless and often get beyond me, began 
to fumble at her neck. I know something about black 
people, and I was sure that she must wear a charm. 
I was not surprised to find that there was a chain about 
her neck, and she laughed when my slender black 
fingers tickled her and then fished up the thing that 
was attached to the chain. 

To my astonishment, it was not a bone nor a bit of 
snakeskin, but a picture. I easily picked open the 
case, and looking in, gave my biggest pleased grunt, 




68 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


for the dark good-natured face staring at me was that 
of the negro cook on the good ship Melrose, who used 
to make the delicious fried cakes—but what was his 
picture doing on the neck of this black woman? They 
must be relatives, and I chattered and pointed to it, 
and when she did not understand I sprang down from 
her lap, and, still holding the picture, I put both hands 
behind my back and began to walk up and down the 
kitchen floor rolling in my gait like a sailor and going 
slightly lame. 

Nonnie sprang to her feet, and cried out, “It's my 

brudder- Oh! Lord, how happy I be. Dis little 

creetur’ he know my brudder. Monkey, you’re a witch 
thing. Tell me more, tell me more you undercome- 
standin’ animal.” 

She flung her head toward the ceiling, and that re¬ 
minded me of times when her brother’s cooking for 
the day was done, and he used to come out on deck 
and throw his head back to look at the stars. So I did 
a lame trot walk, and still with my hands behind my 
back, tossed my head and stared at the naughty flies 
on the ceiling who had come through the screen door 
and were watching me, for even a house fly has more 
sense than human beings know. 

Nonnie squealed so loudly at this, that Dr. and 
Mrs. Sandys came running to the kitchen and gazed 
at her in alarm. 

I thought I might as well finish the picture, so I 
drew one hand across my pinkish forehead right over 
my left eye. 

“Praise de Lord!” screamed Nonnie. “He send me 
news of my Timothy. He ain’t dead and buried in 
de salty sea. He’s alive an’ sailin’ to his Nonnie. He 
did fall in de hold of de ship and lame his leg; he 
did have a fuss wid another man an’ mark his manly 





Nonnie and Her Brother 


69 


brow- Oh! monkey, monkey,” and sweeping me 

into her arms, she sat down in her big chair and began 
to sing in her deep quavering voice: 

“Dat ship is heavy loaded, Hallelujah! 

Don’t ye view dat ship a-come a-sailing, Hallelujah! 

She neither reels nor totters, Hallelujah! 

She is loaded with bright angels, Hallelujah! 

Oh! how do you know dey are angels? Hallelujah! 

I know dem by deir mournin’, Hallelujah!” 

Then, for negroes are great at making up their 
own songs, she began about her brother. 

“He’s a-comin’ for to greet me, Hallelujah! 

I’ll be here rejoicin’, Hallelujah! 

Docta’ll be glad to see him, Hallelujah! 

Missa’ll be glad to see him, Hallelujah! 

Rachel’ll be glad to see him, Hallelujah! 

Lament’ll be glad to see him, Hallelujah!” 

Then, fortunately, just as she was about to reel off 
the names of everyone in the family, there was a 
sound of wheels at the front door, and the station man 
was heard shouting, “Are you all dead here?” 

In their excitement about Nonnie, the Sandys had 
forgotten to watch for my master, but now we all 
remembered, and didn’t we scamper to the front ver¬ 
anda. 

Nonnie forgot her locket, so I clasped it round my 
own neck, but she took it away from me in a great 
hurry later on. 





Chapter VIII 


The Arrival of My Master 


There he was—the beloved youth, his face looking 
very white in the gathering darkness. 

With one leap I was over the wheel, and had both 
arms round his neck. He murmured, “Good boy, 
Jimmy,” in my ear, then carefully guarding his in¬ 
jured arm, he put me aside in his nice way, and step¬ 
ping from the buggy, greeted his uncle and aunt with 
as much courtesy and calmness as if he were in the 
habit of seeing them every day. 

Oh! how interested they were in him. Mrs. Sandys 
kissed him, and called him, “My dear boy,” and Dr. 
Sandys shook his hand warmly and told him he was 
very welcome. 

The children kept back a bit, for Rachel was hang¬ 
ing on him and hugging his well arm, until he mildly 
suggested that it was rather a warm evening for much 
embracing. 

She drew herself into the background then, but con¬ 
tinued to stare at him as if he were a beautiful picture 
stepped down from the wall. 

Nonnie, who had stopped to put on a fresh cap, 
hove in sight like a nice black ship, and gave her boy a 
lovely greeting, then she hurried to the kitchen to get 
him a good hot supper. 

I was a monkey in an ecstasy, and leaped and sprang 
until something called to me faintly from the rose¬ 
bush, “Jimmy Gold-Coast, Jimmy Gold-Coast.” 

Oh! Polly,” I squealed, “Polly Shillaber, hurry 
down. My master has come. He’ll love your red 
70 




The Arrival of My Master 


7i 


tail. He’s a regular boy for the Orient. He adores 
heat and negroes and tropical fruit.” 

She came scrambling down, but paused when a few 
feet from me. “Are you over your bad temper?” she 
asked disagreeably. 

“Ton my word, I forgot all about it,” I said. 

“You’re just like Rachel,” she said with a last cross 
squawk. “She fights you one minute and loves you 
the next. I have a memory, I have, and I’m more 
consistent.” 

“I’ll begin all over again, if you like,” I said mis¬ 
chievously, and I made a playful dash at her. “I’d 
love another red feather to play with.” 

“Stop, stop,” she cried, turning to go up the rose¬ 
bush. 

“I’m only joking, Polly Shillaber,” I said. “Come 
on, I’ve no time for fighting now. Come in the 
dining-room and see my master. 

“I’ve seen him many times before,” she said coldly, 
“and I don’t like him.” 

I was surprised. “I forgot about that,” I said. 
“It seems to me that you have just come here like 
myself.” 

“Didn’t I tell you that I know all about his an¬ 
cestors?” she said. 

“How old are you, Polly?” I asked. 

“If a parrot looks much younger than she is, why 
should she tell her age?” she remarked. 

“You’re twenty years old,” I said, for I know that 
parrots live to a great age. 

“None of your business,” she replied, but not dis¬ 
agreeably, and she scuttled along the hall after me to 
the dining-room where she flew to the mantelpiece and 
stared at Master Nappy without greeting him. I 




72 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


wondered why she did not like him and guessed that 
she was jealous of any new creature or person that 
came to the house, for my master with all his faults 
was not one to hurt a bird. 

The mantel was a good broad one, so I sat beside 
her and watched the family all sitting round the table. 
My master was eating tomato and lettuce salad that 
his aunt had cut up for him, and between mouthfuls 
he told of his accident. It seemed that when he ar¬ 
rived in the pretty little city he had slipped in stepping 
from the train, and had fallen and broken his arm. 
Then he fainted, and two fellow passengers had, as he 
thought, very kindly taken him to a hospital, until he 
discovered that on his way there they had stolen every 
cent of the good Canadian money that he had. 

I was in misery. Oh! had they taken his diamonds 
—his precious diamonds? Slipping from tfye mantel, 

I crept up his leg, and putting a hand under his coat 
where it hung loosely from the arm in a sling, I felt 
his body belt. 

The diamonds were gone, and I gave a low moan. 

How kindly he looked down at me, for he knew 
very well what I was doing. “Good old Jimmy,” he 
murmured, “faithful little chum. I lost my luck when 
I sent you away.” 

I stole back to the mantelpiece and sat mournfully 
beside Polly. 

“He’s beautiful polite outside, isn’t he?” she said, 
“but all ugly inside.” 

“I don’t like that word 'ugly,’ ” I said. 

“I love it,” she said, “and didn’t I know this boy’s 
father? He had to come to this place sometimes to 
save money, but he always hated it. He was pleasant 
in the house, but ugly in the orchard, where he would 




The Arrival of My Master 


73 


walk up and down with his hands behind his back, and 
mutter, 'Any port in a storm.’ ” 

"Polly,” I said hesitatingly, "what did Master 
Nappy’s father do?” 

"You mean what was his business?” she asked 
abruptly. 

"Yes, Polly.” 

"Bad man—he stole things, never hurt anyone, but 
took all he could get. He was known all over the 
world, and was usually on top of the wave, but some¬ 
times he’d get down, and then he’d make for this 
quiet valley haven. Occasionally he’d work. He 
could write books, but they did not sell very well. 
Do you know how he was made bad, Jimmy?” 

"No,” I said sadly, "my master never speaks of 
him.” 

Polly was delighted, for now she had a chance to 
tell me one of her long stories. I shall never forget 
how she wiped her beak a great many times on the 
edge of the mantelshelf, like a person licking his lips, 
then she started: 

"Long years ago, your Master Nappy’s father was 
a little boy in an old castle on the shores of a country 
called Scotland.” 

"I know that country,” I said, "I’ve been in the 
port of Leith.” 

"Well, he was a very unhappy little boy, for he 
was the youngest of a large family, and his parents 
were poor and proud, and put all their money on 
the education of the eldest boy, who was to be head 
of the clan. This made young Napier, for his name 
was the same as your master’s, very jealous. He 
hated his brother who, when his father died, became 
'The MacHadra,’ and was looked up to. Young 




74 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Napier had to go out into the world, and he could not 
do anything worth while, for he had not been educated. 
He was too old and too proud to learn anything, and 
he had no money, so he began to steal from other 
persons. He hated his way of living, and when he 
married and had a son of his own, he vowed that the 
boy should be educated, but as I have told you be¬ 
fore, the child had got his stamp from him, and the 
Doctor and his wife say that a child gets this stamp 
in the first few years of its life, and it is very difficult 
to get it off.” 

I felt puzzled, and said, “If that is true, how is it 
that Rachel is so good?” 

“Her mother started her training, but she has 
enough of her father in her to give these relatives a 
lot of trouble. They take more pains with her up¬ 
bringing than with any two children of their own— 
listen now,” and she cocked her head on one side. 

By this time we were alone, for Polly had talked 
so long that the family had all left the dining-room. 

There was a sound of crying from the near-by office 
that was across the hall from the dining-room. 

Rachel was there with her aunt, all the others hav¬ 
ing gone on the veranda, and I heard the child’s dis¬ 
tressed voice, “Oh, Auntie—seems to me life’s noth¬ 
ing but tumbling down and getting up again.” 

Mrs. Sandys’ pleasant tones came in here. “That’s 
it, girlie, but won’t you let Auntie help you get up 
gracefully?” 

“Now what has that poor child done?” I asked 
Polly. 

Polly looked flattered, for she loved me to appeal to 
her. “I am not sure, but I guess that it is on account 
of Mrs. Haycock.” 

“And who is Mrs. Haycock ?” 




The Arrival of My Master 


75 


“A funny old woman, who has a son that she thinks 
is perfection. Rachel heard her discussing this boy, 
and wishing that his mother would be a little less 
indulgent with him. With the best intentions in the 
world, the child went to the old woman, and told her 
what her aunt and uncle had said. Now you know, 
Monkey, that it is better to put your hand in the fire 
than to come between parents and their children. So 
old Mrs. Haycock ran to Mrs. Sandys and told on 
Rachel, and now Rachel has to go and apologize for 
tattling and embroidering.” 

“What’s embroidering?” I inquired. 

“Adding to what her relatives said. Rachel loves 
to make a good story.” 

“What a shame to make her suffer,” I said indig¬ 
nantly. “She’s only a child.” 

Polly cackled sarcastically, then she said, “Now, 
Jimmy Gold-Coast, just tell me plainly which of 
these two sets of creatures have made the best places 
for themselves in the world—a young man and his 
monkey who have the police after them all the time, 
or a good young doctor and his wife who are loved 
and respected by men and birds and beasts?” 

I hung my head, and for a moment could think of 
nothing to say. However, I at last replied, “We don’t 
care, Master and I. We have a good time. What does 
it matter if people don’t like us?” 

“Do you have a good time?” asked Polly pointedly. 
“Didn’t you tell me this morning that you love this 
place because you fear nobody—that when you are 
out in the world you are always afraid of something 
happening, and are uneasy and restless, for you know 
that your master may at any moment be taken from 
you and shut up? Now didn’t you?” 




76 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“What a memory you have,” I said peevishly. “I 
shall have to be careful what I say to you.” 

'Oh! please don’t do that,” she said earnestly. “I 
like you, Jimmy Gold-Coast, and I have lived so long 
with the Sandyses that I feel like trying to do a little 
bit of good in the world. You are still a young monkey 
and you have a good heart. I do not think it would 
be hard for you to become really honest, and you 
could help your master, who is also young. Then 
remember, though I say a child gets stamped when 
it is young, everybody has a free will, and you 
can change if you are a hundred, if you really 
want to.” 

“How could I help Master Nappy?” I asked 
teasingly. 

“How could you help him!” she exclaimed. “Why, 
in a dozen ways.” 

“Suppose he pointed to a lady’s room, and told me 
to go in and steal a ring, and I refused, what would 
happen ?” 

“He would be ashamed of himself to think that a 
monkey had more what we call ‘conscience’ than he 
had.” 

I laughed till I nearly choked. “You don’t know 
that lad, Polly Shillaber.” Then, for I was tired of 
her preaching, and at that time saw little sense in it, 

I capered about the room, and teased her by menacing 
her tail. When she shrieked in dismay I took some 
lovely hand-springs out to my master and sat on his 
knee. He might be pretty bad, but he was good enough 
for me, and I was not going to change my way of 
living unless he changed his. 

How little I dreamed that lovely summer evening 
as the family sat on the veranda and talked and 




The Arrival of My Master 


77 


sipped cool drinks from high glasses, that a dreadful 
day was coming when I would have given even my 
poor little body to be killed to save my dear young 
owner from a sad time when he would be taken away 
from me and shut up in a dark cold place. 




Chapter IX 


A Long and Happy Time 


The next morning began a long and lovely time of 
watching Master Nappy grow strong and well, for his 
aunt said he was all run down when he came to her. 
At first he slept nearly all the time, then he began to 
wake up and take notice of what was going on about 
him. 

He seemed perfectly happy, and indeed he was, 
though he was so polite and reserved that strangers 
could not tell how he was feeling. I knew him pretty 
well, and I was sure that he was glad to be with his 
relatives while his arm was in this bad state. At 
first he had to take great care of it, and his uncle 
examined it anxiously, but it soon got better, though 
he did not take it out of the sling for some time. You 
see, it was rather a serious thing for my master to 
have anything the matter with his long slender fingers. 
What would he do without them ? He would have to 
learn some other business, so he never left the house 
except to go for a short walk. 

During all this time he got a great deal of amuse¬ 
ment in watching the children, Rachel, of course, 
coming first. 

It was fun to see them coming down the street in 
the morning. The little girls mostly wore sun-bonnets, 
and the boys had on hats with broad brims. All 
carried lunch baskets, and what good things their 
mothers used to put in them! Some of the tiny 
children paused at our corner to cut willow switches 
from the trees down in the hollow by the brook, for 
78 




A Long and Happy Time 


79 


they were apt to meet flocks of big fat geese waddling 
down the station road. 

These geese were most amusing, and the ganders 
leading the flocks would hiss and spread their wings, 
and charge the children just like generals at the head 
of an army. Some of the children ran, and others 
switched them, but very gently, for every child in 
the village belonged to the Band of Mercy, and by 
their vow were pledged never to hurt any living 
thing. 

Mara one day had a trying adventure with a cross 
old gander, for she went to school in a little apron 
trimmed with red, that irritated him deeply and 
made him chase her round and round the school- 
house for a long time, until the frightened child dis¬ 
covered the wide-open door and ran in. The children 
were all fascinated by my master, and when they passed 
by the veranda they would wave their hands to him, 
and he would smile and salute them cheerfully and give 
me his handkerchief to wave at them. 

One day I was allowed to go to school, and what a 
hero I was! The teacher took me up in front, and I 
sat on her desk and flourished my hands and feet and 
then did my tricks, for I had found out by this time 
that these village children were kind and would not 
impose on me. 

I could dance quite nicely, and turn wonderful 
somersaults, and do a number of other things that I 
cannot describe, for I never knew myself what I would 
do next. Being a monkey, I had funny tricks in my 
brain all the time, and I just made up as I went along. 
That first day I gave a geography lesson that I think 
was rather cute. 

I had seen the Doctor down at the house leading 
his children up to the wall maps in his office to show 




8o 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


them where places were that a-nyone mentioned, so I 
pretended that I was the Doctor, and I took the 
teacher’s pointer and put its tip on all the brightest 
red and blue spots on the big map. 

It was really amusing how many of the names that 
the children called out were those of places that I had 
visited, and I got excited and gave such joyful grunts 
and squeals and made the children so riotous, that 
at last the teacher said, “Rachel, your monkey is a 
darling, but I must request that you take him home. 
If he stays he will be running the school, and I do not 
wish to lose my position.” 

I tore down the street ahead of Rachel, and when 
she saw me entering the front door, she went back to 
school. 

My master was in the kitchen with Nonnie that 
day. He loved to sit back in her rocking-chair and 
watch her cooking. Often the good old soul stood up 
too long, because she did not want to turn him out 
of her chair. Sometimes he sat beside his aunt, and 
watched her sewing, but she was so lively and jumped 
up so often that he preferred the slower-going Nonnie. 
Then Nonnie never preached to him, and Mrs. Sandys 
did, just a little bit. She was very strong and fine- 
looking, and resembled a white woman on a pillar in 
the hall who had both arms gone and very little cloth¬ 
ing on. Nonnie called it the “statoo,” and hated to 
dust it, but it had a beautiful head, and I often heard 
the Doctor call his wife the “Goddess” when they were 
all alone. 

Polly Shillaber did not like my master for a long 
time, and it was very amusing to me to see how he 
overcame her dislike. No one could really resist him 
when he made up his mind to please, and he just 
resolved to conquer the stubborn old parrot. I knew 




A Long and Happy Time 


81 


him so well that I could follow the workings of his 
mind, and at last he hit upon a thing that I might have 
thought of myself. 

Right at the back of Polly’s head was a spot that 
she often wished she could reach with her beak, but 
of course she could not. She could clean it with her 
claw, but that was not so satisfactory. One day 
Master Nappy induced her to stop her threatening 
and lower her head, and at that instant his clever 
fingers were busy with that soft grey spot, and Polly 
was so delighted that she gurgled a few lines of her 
favorite song: 

“Sweet turtle-dove, she sing-a so sweet, 

Muddy de water so deep, 

An’ we had a little meetin’ in de mornin’.” 

He had to scratch her many times a day after that, 
till sometimes he got tired and told her to be off to 
her turtle dove. 

His petting made her turn round in her talk about 
him, and one day she said to me quite crossly, “Don’t 
you ever breathe a word against your master to me 
again.” 

“Why, Polly,” I said, “I never did.” 

“Yes, you did,” she replied; “but he’s a changed 
boy. You must have more charity with these young 
things. Just listen to the Methodist minister—he says 
the hope of the world is in the boys and girls.” 

I concealed my amusement, and followed Polly’s 
new bent. “I’ve noticed that about Mr. Wiltshire,” 
I said. “He comes along the street and sees grass 
too high or rubbish lying about, and stops a boy and 
says, ‘How about a clean-up?’ and that boy goes off 
and tells other boys, and then the sidewalks are 
cleaned finely.” 

“All the men here put half the work on the young 

F 




82 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


ones,” said Polly. “Some of them are getting old 
and tired. That’s why the boys never go away from 
this village. They’re all their fathers’ partners. It 
began a long time ago when Mr. Wiltshire came here. 
Two old farmers had a quarrel about a boundary 
fence, and they wanted their children to quarrel, too. 
The children couldn’t learn to hate each other, but 
the fathers kept on teaching them, till one evening 
Mr. Wiltshire leaned on the fence, and said with a 
roguish look in his eye, T wish the fence was in the 
river.’ 

“The boys and girls just leaped at it, and tore it up 
and threw the stakes on the water, and the quarrel 
went floating down to the Basin of Minas. 

“The next morning, when the two old men went out 
to look at the fence, there wasn’t any fence to look 
at, and the neighbors joked them so much that they 
were ashamed and gave up their quarrel.” 

“I don’t know much about the villages round¬ 
about,” I said, “but comparing this one with places I 
have visited in other parts of the world, it seems very 
jolly.” 

“It’s because they sing so much,” said Polly. 
“That makes their hearts happy. Then they always 
have some amusement going on for the young people 
in the evening. Just as soon as their work is done, 
they are at liberty to drive about and visit each other 
and they have singing-schools and clubs and games 
of all kinds, some for summer and some for winter. 
These Sandys children are too young yet to go out at 
night, but when you have been here longer and visit 
about the country you will see what a really fine time 
everybody has. Mr. Wiltshire says old people should 
not give up play. They should frolic a bit with the 




A Long and Happy Time 


83 


young folk—there’s the Doctor going for a drive. Go 
and beg to be taken.” 

“No, thank you,” I said; “I don’t want to leave my 
master—but Polly, look! What is the doctor doing 
to those dogs?” 

Polly stared at the two smooth English greyhounds 
with long tapering necks that had just come into the 
yard, literally cleaving the air till they dropped like 
two stones on the tanbark. 

“The Doctor is reading the messages on their 
collars,” she said. “They are patient dogs.” 

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. 

“They report the progress of patients. The Doctor 
sends them up to the two mountains, and they bring 
news to him. You see, when one leaves here, Jimmy, 
there are just four ways to go. You can drive up the 
Valley or down the Valley, or up on the North Moun¬ 
tain, or up the South Mountain. That slightly pig- 
jawed dog panting so violently is called 'Messenger,’ 
and he runs up to a farm-house on the North Mountain 
where persons leave messages for the Doctor. The 
dog with ears lying close to his head is 'Winged Heel.’ 
He goes to the South Mountain.” 

“And why is that pigeon so much interested in the 
dogs?” I asked, as a glistening blue homer came 
down from the stable loft to hover over the panting 
dogs. 

“The pigeons are the dogs’ rivals. In bad cases the 
Doctor leaves them with his patients, and they bring 
word if there is a sudden emergency.” 

“Oh! Polly,” I said, “how that pigeon takes me 
back to voyages with my master, when steamers car¬ 
ried these homing birds out to sea. Once we had to 
take one all the way to Spain because the weather was 
too foggy to let it fly back to England.” 




8 4 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“The Doctor loves his dogs and pigeons,” said Polly. 
“See how Mother Machree lights on his shoulder and 
pecks at his cheek. She has an aluminum ring on, and 
her number is forty-three. Many a life has Mother 
Machree saved. A grateful lumberman came and 
built that wonderful roomy pigeon loft for the Doctor 
after his child got well. Mother Machree was the 
pigeon on duty up on the North Mountain where the 
child’s croup got suddenly worse. Didn’t she scurry 
down here with the news that the child was choking 
to death, and didn’t the Doctor fling himself on 
Dancer’s back and dash up the road toward the 
mountain. Some of the animals said that Mother 
Machree was in a hurry to get back to her squabs, but 
she told me she has a mother’s heart and she knew she 
was helping a human baby. Of course she thought of 
her squabs, too, but she put the human being first. 
I tell you, Monkey, it would pay the human folk to 
study birds and animals a little more. If they cultivate 
us, we show them how clever we are.” 

“I agree with you,” I said; “but tell me why is 
that other blue homer rookety-cahooing to Mother 
Machree?” 

“It’s her mate Batty. He’s not very sound in the 
head, but he knows when five o’clock comes, and that 
it’s his night out.” 

“Do male pigeons never sit on the squabs at night?” 
I asked. 

“Catch them,” said Polly. “They sit from nine to 
five, then mother pidgie comes on.” 

“Why does not the Doctor use a telephone?” 
I asked. “That would be better than dogs and 
pigeons.” 

“He does,” said Polly. “Haven’t you seen it in 
his office? In far-away places on the mountains the 




A Long and Happy Time 


85 


people haven’t telephones. The farmers in the Valley 
all have them.” 

“And why doesn’t he use a motor-car?” I went on. 

“He is going to get one, but he has been used to 
horses all his life, and cannot bear to buy a machine. 
He’ll have to come to it, though, for all the other 
doctors have them.” 

At this instant my master came out of the house 
and stood in the doorway looking at his uncle, who 
was buckling the last strap of Dancer’s harness. 

“Want to come for a drive, boy?” asked the 
Doctor. 

My master hesitated until he felt a hand on his 
shoulder, and there was his aunt. “If you will go, 
Nappy, I will go, too,” she said. “It won’t hurt your 
arm.” 

Without a word, the Doctor unfastened the traces 
from his buggy and rolling it in the barn brought out 
the double-seated carriage. When I saw Master Nappy 
getting in the back seat with his aunt, I sprang to his 
side, and off we went on my first drive down the 
Valley. 

It was just as beautiful as Polly had said. When 
we left this village of Downton there was a long bit 
of road with farms each side in which were carried on 
mixed farming operations—that is, a little of every¬ 
thing, and interesting farms they were. Orchards 
and gardens, and hay land and meadows by the river, 
and wood lots and enormous fields where rye, and 
wheat, and barley and oats and buckwheat were 
growing briskly. 

I snuggled down beside my master. Oh! how 
happy I was to be driving through this sweet-scented 
air, for although the apple blossoms were falling, there 
were plenty of wild flowers growing in the grass by 




86 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


the roadside. Every little while were long strips of cool 
forest where the farmers had not yet cleared the land. 

We drove through several villages until the sun 
began going down when the Doctor entered the yard 
of a farm-house where many tall locust trees stood 
in the driveway and hung their long white blossoms 
down in a perfect shower as if there were a wedding 
going on inside. Alas! it was not a wedding, but a 
very sad case of sickness. 

How the farmer and his wife brightened up when 
they saw the Doctor! I knew that he was their very 
best friend by the way they took his hand. 

Mrs. Sandys and my master did not go in the house, 
but sat out in the carriage, and after a while the 
farmer’s wife came out and talked in the most touching 
way about the doctor. She said he had saved her boy’s 
life and though he was still seriously ill, he was in a 
fair way to get better, thanks to the promptness of the 
doctor in coming to them in the middle of the night. 

Master Nappy asked what the matter was, and the 
woman told him that her son, who was a sailor and had 
gone all over the world, had had a peculiar accident. 
One night he had dreamed that his mother was calling 
him, and in jumping out of bed he had caught his foot 
in the bedclothes and had fallen on his head and cut 
it severely. He had lost much blood, but Dr. Sandys 
had sewed the wound up so cleverly and had stayed 
with the young man night and day so devotedly that 
now they were sure he would recover. 

This good-hearted woman begged us to stay to 
supper, but the Doctor shook his head, and said that 
the house must be kept quiet, and then as she looked 
longingly at me, he said that the monkey would call 
on the patient later and would amuse him with some 
of his tricks. 




A Long and Happy Time 


8 7 


The woman gave me a shrewd glance and said: 
“The little beast has a look in the tail of his eye as if 
he understood what you are saying.” 

The Doctor smiled at her and said, “A clever man 
who has been writing on the minds and manners of 
wild animals, says that the chimpanzee is the most 
intelligent of all animals below man. His mind ap¬ 
proaches most closely to that of man, and it carries 
him farthest upward toward the human level. He can 
learn more by training, and learn more easily, than 
any other animal.” 

I was so pleased when the Doctor said this, for a 
chimpanzee is a big brother in the monkey family, that 
I got up on my hind legs and patted his shoulder. 

“But I thought,” said the woman, “that the dog is 
the most intelligent animal.” 

“This same writer says that the dog is in closest 
touch with the mind, the feeling and the impulses of 
man, and understands best his facial expression, but 
in the final estimate of intelligence he ranks far below 
the chimpanzee.” 

“My stars and garters!” said the woman, “that’s 
news to me—good-bye, Monkey, come again. I want 
my boy to make your acquaintance,” and she waved 
her hand as we drove away. 

We stopped at the very next farm for supper, and 
I was glad, for I was very hungry. What a welcome 
we got! When the farmer’s family saw us driving in 
they all surrounded us, for the horn was just blowing 
and the men were coming from the barnyard to the 
back door. That visit was typical of many visits I paid 
to farm-houses with the Sandys family. 

We were always ushered into the spare bedroom 
with its fresh white curtains and snowy bedspread, to 
lay aside our wraps, for it was often cool in driving, 




88 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


and I wore my little grey jacket with the fur collar. 
Then we went to the table, and what meals we used 
to have! Such loaves of home-made bread, and cakes 
and pies, and always hot rolls and huge dishes of jam, 
two kinds of which were often put into one saucer. 
We had also fruit cake, rich and black, like the cake 
in Scotland, and with white icing on it. Oh! how 
I loved to pick it off, but if Mrs. Sandys was with us 
she would not let me have much of it. Then we had 
pitchers of milk and cream, or “jugs” as I used to 
say in those days before I became a Canadian monkey, 
and hot meat and mealy potatoes, and jellies with 
whipped cream and custard. They lived royally, those 
farmers and their families, and they ate long and 
heartily with appetites sharpened by their day’s 
work. 

After supper and the clearing away of the dishes, 
came usually a long talk in the parlor between the 
farmer’s wife and Mrs. Sandys about members of the 
family at home and abroad. On many mantelpieces 
were quaint bits of bronze and little Buddhas that I 
recognized as coming from foreign lands, and I soon 
found out that Nova Scotians are a seagoing people, 
for no part of the province is more than thirty miles 
from the salt water. 

If there was no very sick patient in the house, and 
I looked out the window when Mrs. Sandys was talk¬ 
ing, I could see the tall grey-coated Doctor sauntering 
about the farm with his host who, with arm out¬ 
stretched, would be pointing to different parts of the 
horizon telling about his crops, or with bent head and 
his hands behind his back would be pouring his trou¬ 
bles into the Doctor’s sympathetic ear. 

Our drives were not always in the valley, for some¬ 
times we went up on the mountains. There I found a 




A Long and Happy Time 


89 


wilder country and a cooler climate, with huge pastures 
for sheep and cattle, several fox-farms, great tracts of 
forest and the deep ravines where lived the bears that 
Polly had threatened me with. I used to look down 
into these dark, damp hollows when we were going up 
the steep mountain roads and wonder what would 
happen if our good Dancer should let us back down. 
However, he was very sure-footed, and the Doctor was 
an excellent driver. 

From the North Mountain one drove down to the 
Bay of Fundy, and when the children were with us 
they went in bathing. The hardy little creatures did 
not mind the cold water, but I shrieked with dismay 
one day when I waded in, and Master Nappy had to 
wrap me in his coat to warm me. I liked the moun¬ 
tains north and south, with their quaint homes and 
ancient forests, but I loved the charming valley, espe¬ 
cially on the way home when the sun went down and 
the stars came out. What lessons we had when the 
children were along! They would stare in the bushes 
where tiny glow-worms were flitting about, and tell 
their father that these glow-worms, according to Non- 
nie, were frantic children looking with little lanterns 
for their lost brothers. After he heard Nonnie’s fairy 
stories about birds and beasts and stars he would 
give the children the proper information, and it was 
wonderful how much they learned with regard to the 
world about them and the queer patterns of things that 
the stars made in the sky. 

I used to see Dancer working his ears back and 
forth, for he listened, too. He was driven slowly 
enough for him to enjoy himself, and not have to think 
all the time how tired he was. 

He was extremely intelligent, and had been a racing 
horse before Dr. Sandys rescued him. He had had a 




90 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


cruel owner who used to tie his poor tongue down to 
his jaw before races so that he would be suffering 
and go faster. The excuse the man made was that his 
tongue might get in his throat and choke him, but 
Dr. Sandys said that the Lord knew how to make a 
horse better than a man did, and if a man made a horse 
go so fast that his tongue choked him, he was driving 
him faster than the horse’s Creator intended him to 
go. The magistrate at first gave a decision against 
Dr. Sandys, but the persevering doctor carried it to a 
higher court and got the man convicted. Dancer said 
he wished he could have addressed the magistrate. He 
would have told him how horses hate racing. 

I told him that this surprised me, for I had heard my 
master and his friends say that horses enjoyed racing. 

'‘You had better ask the opinion of some thorough¬ 
breds on the subject,” said Dancer scornfully. “How 
would you like to tear along so fast that your heart 
feels as if it were bursting? I wish horses could write 
books.” 

I well remember the day Dancer said this to me. 
We had just come from a long drive up the South 
Mountain, and I had become so attracted by this 
picturesque country that I had begun to wish my 
master might decide to stay here all his life. His arm 
was out of the sling, and he was helping his uncle in 
the office, and with what pride did that good man look 
at him when he gave him messages that had been left 
for him from patients. 

When I left Dancer and went into the house I got a 
slight shock, for there was Polly perched on the back 
of a chair in the doorway with a very severe look on 
her face. 

“You think you are having a rather fine time here, 
don’t you?” she said. 




A Long and Happy Time 


9 i 


“Indeed I do,” I replied; “but Polly, I haven’t seen 
as much of you lately as I used to. You always seem 
sleepy, and crouching behind that mantel over the 
fire-place in the hall.” 

“I’ve been watching you,” she said solemnly. 
“Come along with me now. I want to have a talk 
with you.” 

I followed her with some anxiety, for I had been 
carrying on some business of my own that I have not 
written about in the last chapter. 

She led me to a russet apple tree outside the Doctor’s 
office window, and climbing up the trunk, sat herself 
on one of the branches, and made me sit in front of her. 




Chapter X 


Polly tells me what She thinks of Me 


“Jimmy Gold-Coast,” said the old parrot solemnly, 
“you good-hearted monkey with a past. Will you 
never be able to live up to the present?” 

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously. 

“I mean that in spite of all my preaching to you, 
I find you are backsliding.” 

“What’s that funny thing, Polly?” 

“Slipping down hill. You began when your master 
returned.” 

I drew myself up. “Polly Shillaber, everybody in 
this village praises me. I really feel spoiled.” 

“You won’t feel that way much longer,” she said. 
“Don’t you notice a difference in the way people treat 
you the last week or two?” 

I thought hard. I had noticed a difference now 
that she spoke of it. Formerly I had had the run of 
the houses. Now nobody left me alone when I was 
visiting. I was petted as much as ever, but I was 
watched. 

“Poor Jimmy,” said Polly; “you’re a miserable 
little thief.” 

“What!” I screamed at her. “You’re crazy.” 

She began to sharpen her beak on the apple-tree 
trunk, and I knew a lecture was coming. “Jimmy, 
dear,” she said, “don’t for a minute think I don’t like 
you. I am speaking for your good.” 

“All right,” I said sulkily; “go on. You’ve been 
sneaking, I see.” 

“Not sneaking—just supervising. You know that 
92 




Polly tells me what She thinks of Me 


93 


fire-place in the hall has a mirror opposite it where the 
coats hang?” 

“Oh! yes,” I sighed. “I know,” and I thought of 
the big hall with the doors opening off it, and the 
mirror at one end and the fire-place at the other. What 
a convenient place for a spy, and how much had she 
seen, and how much did she knew? 

“Poor little creature,” she said. “You certainly 
have loving ways. When Master Nappy came, your 
little monkey cup of pleasure was full to the brim. 
There was only one bitter drop in it, for you told me 
yourself that it was a great worry to you to think that 
your beloved master had no money to go out into the 
world again.” 

“Yes, I told you that,” I said. “I remember it quite 
well.” 

“And then your active brain began to work at the 
question of providing money for him.” 

I bobbed my head, for I did not feel like speaking, 
or rather conveying a thought to her, for as I have 
said before, animal and bird conversations are usually 
carried on without words. I cannot tell you how we 
do it, any more than I can tell you how Master Nappy 
understands his friends when they are in a room and 
do not speak to him. He has a thought, and his 
friends have a thought, and they act upon it, very 
often to the great surprise of someone who is not in 
this mind business. 

Polly went on, and I bowed my head in shame. 

“Jimmy, when you found your master was penniless 
and senseless, for he is not half so clever as you think 
he is-” 

“Polly,” I said, “Pm pretty good-tempered, as you 
know, and you may abuse me all you like, but if you 





94 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


say a word against that boy, away goes another red 
feather.” 

“Very good,” she said. “I stand a corrected parrot. 
I did wrong to irritate you. Now, when you began to 
plan to get some money for him, you naturally thought 
of his own money that you told me he had given to 
his sister.” 

“It was his,” I said; “he had a right to it.” 

“But he had given it away, silly. It was his no 
longer.” 

“It was honest money,” I said. “He did earn it.” 

She swayed back and forth for a few minutes in her 
funny parrot way. “How you confuse things, Jimmy. 
If you give a thing away, it isn’t yours. It’s the other 
person’s. Now, don’t argue! You crawled to Mrs. 
Sandys’ bedroom, for you knew Rachel had given her 
the roll of bills. You found them tucked away in 
the drawer of her writing desk-—for no one locks up 
anything in this village—or rather, they never used 
to—but they will begin now. I watched you from 
my hiding-place in the mantel. You put the money 
in the pocket of the coat hanging across the chair in 
your master’s room. I saw you push it well down with 
your tiny black fingers, and oh! how pleased you were! 
Then you were surprised that he said nothing to you 
about it. My dear! he never got it, for I, Polly Shilla- 
ber, with my honest beak took out that money and car¬ 
ried it back to the place from which you had stolen it!” 

“You miserable old thief,” I cried, and I threatened 
her tail. “I’ll get even with you for this.” 

“Stop a bit, Jimmy,” she said, wheeling round and 
keeping her head towards me, “till I tell you why I 
did this, and you will see that I am a better friend 
to Master Nappy than you are. The village dress¬ 
maker was coming that evening with some new frocks 




Polly tells me what She thinks of Me 


95 


for Rachel, and Mrs. Sandys would have gone to get 
that money to pay her. If she had found that it had 
vanished, I could just see her dropping down on a 
chair and burying her face in her hands to cry 
bitterly. ,, 

“Now why should she have done that?” I asked 
peevishly. “You have too much imagination, Polly 
Shillaber.” 

“She would have blamed her nephew, and she 
would have wept with shame to think that her sister’s 
son would make such a poor return for her hospitality, 
showing by it that he was still bad at heart.” 

“Her sister’s son can look out for himself,” I said 
sullenly. 

“Well, we will leave him now and come back to 
you,” said Polly. “You knew that he would need even 
more money than that, so your clever little mind began 
to work on a new plan. You saw how trusting these 
village people are. Many of them had not been out 
in the world as you and I have been, and there was 
plenty of money about to be had for the taking. I 
saw you slip down to the shoemaker’s. I looked from 
a tree by the window and watched you taking down 
his old broken tea-pot from the closet shelf. You 
were cute enough not to take all his nice bills. You 
put some back.” 

“Of all the shameful spying,” I ejaculated. “I’d 
rather be a thief than a hateful ferret like you.” 

“You can’t anger me,” said Polly properly. “I’m a 
reformer, and where would monkey society be but for 
the policeman?” 

The old parrot’s air as she said this was so deliciously 
important that I, being of a cheerful disposition, burst 
into a fit of laughter, but the more I laughed, the more 
solemn she got. 




96 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“Your levity is a dreadful thing to me,” she said at 
last, “for it shows that this affair of stealing is still 
a thing of light matter to you.” 

“Never mind that,” I said, wiping my eyes on a 
handful of apple leaves, “do go on—what else have 
you seen?” 

“I saw you go to the grocer’s, and when his back 
was turned you crept to the cash-box and snatched a 
whole handful of bills.” 

“True enough,” I said. “I got a pretty good haul 
that day, for there was a visit to the Methodist 
minister’s, where I discovered a whole bagful of ten- 
cent pieces.” 

“Not the Sunday School money!” gasped Polly, in 
horror. “Not the silver pieces for the heathen!” 

“Exactly,” I said teasingly. “Silver pieces for the 
heathen, my master. That’s home mission work, 
Polly.” 

The good old parrot was in such a state of affliction 
that she could not speak, and I, not knowing whether 
it was on account of having missed this spree of mine, 
or on account of the crime of taking church money, 
waited for her to give me a clue. 

“Jimmy,” she said at last. “Would you like to go 
and live in a Zoo?” 

“Those places where poor animals are confined for 
life?” I exclaimed. “No, thank you, I’d kill myself 
first.” 

“Then you must reform,” she said so very seriously 
that I knew she was feeling deeply. “If you go on 
stealing as you have begun, the good Sandys will have 
to get rid of you.” 

This worried me a bit, and I said, “Perhaps I had 
better steal no more.” 




Polly tells me what She thinks of Me 97 

“You had better return the stolen money,” she 
said. 

“How can I? It belongs to Master Nappy now, 
and he has locked it up. You wouldn’t have me steal 
from him, would you?” 

Polly scratched her head and looked so worried that 
I helped her scratch it, too. “Poor old Poll,” I said. 
“I am a sad worry to you. I’ll try to be good. I don’t 
want to go to a Zoo. I have heard such frightful 
stories about them.” 

“There you are again off on a wrong track,” she 
said patiently. “Fear of punishment is going to make 
you reform. You should be sorry in your monkey 
heart—just a little more to the right, Jimmy. Scratch 
down toward the middle of my back.” 

“I wish I could scratch back my reputation,” I said. 
“Everybody will be down*on me now.” 

“The penalty of wrongdoing, Jimmy, but you 

can begin from this very minute to be a better 
monkey, and I will do all I can to help you. Alas, 

though, you have involved your master in your 

downfall!” 

“My master!” I exclaimed. “What do you 

mean ?” 

“Why all the people in this village know what kind 
of a man his father was. They were sorry for him, 
and they have been watching Master Nappy. If he 
keeps that money you have stolen for him, they will 
wish him to leave the village.” 

“You don’t mean to say that everybody is blaming 
him?” I cried, and in my excitement I pulled out one 
of her feathers, which made her pretty cross, till she 
discovered it was only a tiny grey one. 

“Certainly it has. Your thefts have brought up 
all the old scandal about the older man.” 


G 




98 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“Then he must give the money back,” I said. “This 
will never do. They might arrest him.” 

“They won’t do that,” said Polly, “but they certainly 
will lock up their money.” 

“Then it doesn’t matter,” I said; “things are all 
right again.” 

Polly stared at me hopelessly, and I went on: “As 
I understand the matter, the village people are all on 
to my stealing, but the Sandys family don’t know 
about it yet. If I can get my master to let me have 
that money, I’ll run and put it all back. He’ll be 
sorry, too, for he grinned happily when I handed it 
to him. It’s an awful thing, Polly, to be in a city 
with no money in your pocket. Master and I have 
gone hungry several times.” 

“You needn’t try to work on my sympathy,” said 
Polly coldly. “You are what I call impossible, though 
I suppose it is wrong for me to give up hope. I 
think it would be good for you to hear one of Nonnie’s 
sermons.” 

“Nonnie!” I exclaimed. “Can she preach like the 
good Methodist minister?” 

“Better,” said Polly seriously. “I’ll take you to hear 
her some day. She’s so worried about your master 
that she goes up to the pasture nearly every afternoon 
when her work is done.” 

“Does she know about my stealing?” I asked. 

“All about it,” said Polly, “but I don’t know how.” 

“Black people are cleverer than white ones in some 
ways, I said. “On the Gold Coast, if a native is hurt 
in the interior, the black people know it at once, but 
the white people know nothing till the runners come 
or the telegraph tells them.” 

“You tire me, Jimmy, with your badness,” said 




Polly tells me what She thinks of Me 


99 


Polly. “I’m going away to rest. I’ll let you know 
when Nonnie goes up to the pasture.” 

“Thank you, Polly,” I said humbly. “I’m sorry 
I’m so bad. It’s hard to be good when you’re a 
monkey.” 

“Your master isn’t a monkey,” she said severely. 
Then before I could hit her she flew away. 

I stayed some time in the apple tree thinking about 
Nonnie. The dear old soul did really and truly love 
Master Nappy, and now that I thought about it, she 
had seemed worried lately. I should enjoy hearing her 
preach. Indeed, I liked all the preachings in the 
village. There was the small Catholic church with the 
cross on the steeple and the pretty things inside, and 
the Methodist church where the white pigeons lived 
in the tower, and the Baptist church where the Sandys 
family went, and where Polly and I often sneaked 
down and peeped in the window, and the Anglican 
church whose clergyman loved birds and beasts and 
often preached about them. I loved the singing in 
these churches and the kind faces of the people who 
came driving in from miles around. They came on 
Sundays, and weekdays, too, and often left their hay 
standing, even if it looked like rain. They certainly 
were a fine class, these farmers of the Valley. Now 
what would Nonnie have to say to the animals about 
behaving themselves, I wondered; and, still wonder¬ 
ing, I slipped to the street and had lunch with the 
shoemaker, who was a jolly old Irishman and who 
had not found out my theft, I knew by the way he 
treated me. 




Chapter XI 


Nonnie’s Sermon to the Animals 


Polly’s conversation worried me, and I was uneasy 
all that day, and at night had such a frightful night¬ 
mare that Master Nappy threw his shoes across the 
bedroom at me. 

However, my uneasiness that day was nothing to 
what I felt after I had listened to Nonnie’s sermon, 
which took place the next afternoon. 

The old woman had finished her work, and instead 
of going up to her room to lie down, she went out into 
the yard. 

“Come on,” Polly whispered to me, “she’s making 
for the back pasture.” 

I shall never forget that beautiful day. The sun 
was warm, but not too warm, and flooded the tan- 
bark yard with a glowing color. The pigeons were 
strutting about, though nearly every other creature was 
having a bit of a rest. Birds often have a nap in the 
middle of the day, and there was scarcely one to be seen, 
though occasionally one heard a sleepy whisper from 
the leafy branches. 

Those dear wild birds appreciated the protection of 
the Sandys’ house, and their nests were thick about 
it. Dr. Sandys had not even a potato bug in sight, 
and never had to spend a cent for nasty chemical 
poisons, which are bad for the noses of dogs and 
monkeys. 

The children had not come home from school, and 
the Doctor had gone to see a patient in the village. 
That gave a holiday to Dancer, the horse, and he was 
standing in the yard watching friend horses going 
ioo 




Nonnie’s Sermon to the Animals 


IOI 


by. Mrs. Sandys was in a hammock on the veranda 
reading a book, and my master dozed near her on a 
sofa. 

“Follow me,” said Polly importantly, and she kept 
her eye on Nonnie, who was going up to the hen¬ 
house. The hens all got up from their dust wallows 
when they saw her, for she went up to the box of 
hemp seed and filled her apron pockets full. They 
adored this rich seed, and would have followed her 
to the end of the world for it. 

“Now the procession will form,” said Polly, and 
Nonnie coming out of the hen-house, looked over her 
shoulder and called, “Come on, Dancer, and have a 
walk to de pasture wid me.” 

The piebald horse came sauntering along, and Polly 
and I skirmished from tree to tree, I suppressing my 
laughter as I saw every hen not on duty on a nest, and 
every rooster and baby chicken following Nonnie as 
she went up the path that led back of the barn to the 
corn-field and the pasture in the burntland. 

Clumpus, the cat, whom I have forgotten to men¬ 
tion before, joined us in the orchard. He was a big 
black-and-white fellow, very clumsy on his feet, as 
they had been frozen when a thoughtless woman to 
whom he belonged left him out of doors one night 
when the thermometer was below zero. 

His walk was most ungraceful on account of his 
swollen feet, so he did not associate much with other 
cats, but kept mostly with the hens, who liked to 
have him about, and took their chickens right up to 
him. They remembered that once when a hen was 
killed in the street he slept with her chickens till they 
grew old enough to look out for themselves. 

After Clumpus came Winged Heel and Messenger, 
and many wild birds, as we went along, began to wake 




102 


Jimmy G old-Coast 


up and follow on, for they knew what it meant when 
Nonnie’s apron pockets had that full look. The crows 
and the grackles kept in the background, for Nonnie 
threw stones at them when they bothered the little 
birds. 

The old colored woman soon began to sing: 

“Oh! de ole sheep done know de road; 

De ole sheep done know de road, 

De young lambs mus’ find de way/' 

“It’s a pretty fine thing for her to come up here,” 
whispered Polly to me, “all on account of your master.” 

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. 

“Wait and you’ll see,” and she would say no more, 
but flew along from one tree to another as long as 
they lasted, then took to the ground. 

We were in the burntland now, where a fire had 
been allowed to run among the big trees and little 
trees. It had been done some time ago, and new 
green stuff had sprung up around the blackened 
stumps of large forest trees. These stumps had queer 
shapes, and some of them looked like huge, ungainly 
persons and animals. 

“Nonnie has them all named,” Polly told me. 
“That awful stump there with the bunch of fern for 
hair, is Brother Trixby, who used to be a great sinner 
till his wife died, when he became a saint. The little 
dumpish brown stump is Miss Pettipocket, who is a 
zealous worker among the children. In fact, all the 
stumps have names, and you may hear Nonnie address¬ 
ing them if she gets through with the animals. They 
are her favorite subjects just now. Here is a sheltered 
place to hide, behind these alders.” 

“Why don’t we go right out?” I asked. “I hate 
this hiding business. It reminds me of your spying 
on me.” 




Nonnie’s Sermon to the Animals 


103 


“Because,” said Polly earnestly, “it is for your 
master. Nonnie has a high opinion of monkeys. She 
may not speak so freely before you.” 

“You’re jealous of me,” I said. “Come on, I’m 
going to take a front seat,” and I led the way to the 
biggest stump of all, which was directly in front of a 
rock shaped like a table, where Nonnie had taken 
her stand. 

“Dat’s right, little monkey,” said Nonnie coolly. 
“I see’d you a-follerin’ on. Set right down, an’ Polly, 
too. Now, frien’s, we’ll begin dis meetin’ wid liftin’ 
up our voices in a nice cheerful song.” 

I looked around me. The horse, who was the 
biggest creature present, had taken up his station at 
one side of Nonnie’s rock and stood lazily swinging 
his tail to keep the flies off. Bessy the cow, who had 
been farther back in the pasture, was coming ploughing 
through brakes up to her knees to get with the other 
creatures that she liked so well. The birds were 
perched, some on stump-tops and some on the tiny 
saplings that had sprung up after the fire had taken 
place. The dogs lay at Nonnie’s feet, and the hens 
were in a bunch behind the dogs. 

Nonnie’s face was beaming as she looked around on 
us all, and with great fervor she started singing one 
of her favorite songs, “Milk-white Horses Ober in 
Jordan.” 

No one could join in with her, but Polly whistled 
quite comfortable and happily a hoarse little accom¬ 
paniment to the tune. When Nonnie got us to the last 
verse, “Plealin’ water ober in Jordan,” her old face 
became sorrowful, and she burst out with, “Oh! 
animals! shall us all be ober in Jordan? Only de good 
animals shall ride up in de chariot an’ eat de milk an’ 
honey. No pickin’, stealin’ little monkey fingers can 





‘‘oh! ANIMALS! SHALL US ALL BE OBER IN JORDAN?" 



























Nonnie’s Sermon to the Animals 


105 


go ober Jordan; but critters, dear critters, Nonnie’s 
forgettin’ her textie, which is 'Sheep an’ Lambs.’ 

"Now de fust head is ‘Sheep,’ an’ de second is 
‘Lamb,’ an’ let us wrastle wid de fust part fust. 
Black sheep, white sheep, grey sheep an’ sheep of all 
colors, listen to poor ole Nonnie. My heart is jus’ 
bustin’ wid sympathy for sheep. I’se an ole sheep 
myself, an’ I goes round de world wid a heartache in 
my bosom for de odder sheep. How we suffers for 
de lambs. Dey is so stubborn. Dey go round on 
deir little wobbly legs, an’ dey won’t listen to de 
counsels of de sheep. Dey sucks deir mudder’s milk, 
yet dey won’t listen to deir mudder’s advice. Look 
out for de wolves—no, dear critters, dere ain’t no 
wolves in Novy Scoshy. Nonnie’ll make dem bears. 
Well, de young lambs say dere ain’t no bears, an’ 
dey run in de dangerous places, an’ deir young foots 
slip an’ den dose little brazen lambs blame de sheep 
an’ say, ‘You ain’t brought us up right.’ 

‘‘De ole sheep’s always a-talkin’, but de young lambs 
don’t hear till de danger gets dem by de leg. Listen 
when you’re young, dear critters. Don’t put off de day 
of thinkin’ till it’s too late. Dere’s lots of ole sheep 
would lay down deir lives for de lambs, but de good 
Lord won’t let ’em. As a lamb makes his bed, he 
lies on it.” 

Here poor old Nonnie paused, and wiped the perspi¬ 
ration, which was streaming down her forehead. Up 
here it was very warm, for we had a belt of fine 
timber about us. ‘‘Nonnie loves it because it’s quiet,” 
whispered Polly in my ear. ‘‘She can scream all she 
wishes. How do you like her preaching?” 

‘‘She’s a bit personal,” I said, "but I fancy her 
style suits you.” 

"Right down to the ground,” said Polly, preening 




io6 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


herself; “but hush! she is starting out again. I guess 
she’s mad with the hens.” 

She was, and began, “Stop yer shovin’, you un¬ 
mannerly Reds. Dere ain’t no fillin’ up de crops of 
some greedy graspers. Not a single seed of hemp will 
you have unless you waits de conclusion of Nonnie’s 
discourse. De time is ripe for works of grace, an’ 
sinners is a-stumblin’. Dere’s an old black sheep I 
know what is worryin’ somethin’ fierce over her young 
lamb. She’s an ole no-account sheep—she ain’t never 
had no little lamb of her own; she’ll never have no 
lamb ’cause she’s too ole, but she loves a white lamb 
what was laid in her bosom so many years ago. He 
was a lamb dat was a real lamb, an’ he had de cute 
little fingers dat curled round de bars of poor ole 
Nonnie’s heart. She’s a-grievin’ an’ a frettin’ about 
dat lamb, ’cause he ain’t a-livin’ in good ole Novy 
Scoshy. 

“Oh, critters! love dat lamb, be kind to dat lamb, an’ 
mebbe he’ll come back to us, an’ we will do him good. 
He’s a lamb, what is as cute as a pet fox, but he ain’t 
as cute as he thinks, ’cause all de ole sheep in dis vil¬ 
lage dey onderstands him, an’ dey’s sorry for him. 
Dear critters, your sin does find you out—you, Dancer, 
wid your smooth face, I see you a-liftin’ de kivver of 
de oat bin when you thought no one was a-lookin’.” 

The handsome horse drooped his head and was 
about to saunter away when Nonnie shouted, “Stay 
where you be. You’se in good company. Ain’t I 
a-goin’ to argufy wid dese hens about de slow-up in 
de egg business. Is dis de time to fool de kind Sandys 
wid de price of eggs goin’ up? I know you, Rooster 
Red-Face, an’ if you ain’t a-goin’ to rule dose hens a 
mite better dis warm weather, you’se a-goin’ to be 
neck-high in trouble.” 




Nonnie’s Sermon to the Animals 


io 7 


The rooster at this got up on a stump and crowed 
angrily. 

“Look at dat!” cried Nonnie. “A stubborn heart 
an’ a proud temper. You’ve got to come a-down 
off’n your stump, Mr. Rooster, or into de pot you 
goes.” 

The rooster descended from his perch pretty quick, 
and grovelled in the ferns before Nonnie, for all the 
roosters in the neighborhood were dreadfully afraid 
of having their heads cut off. 

Nonnie, mollified by his submission, went on with 
her talk. “Oh! my little pet lamb! Is dese critters 
submissive to reason, an’ is you a-goin’ to be lost? 
Don’t go out into de black world, but stay wid Nonnie 
an’ your own folks. Dat Doctor, he’s so proud ’cause 
you can go in his office an’ wid your fingers, which is 
long and slender like lilies, you can put up de medicine 
for de sick folk. Nex’ to healin’ de souls of men is de 
healin’ of de bodies, an’ often de two things is run so 
close togedder dat you can’t tell ’em apart. 

“Now, dear hearers, de sun is a-westerin’, an’ 
Nonnie has to go home an’ get de supper. If you all 
is edified by dis talk of poor ole Nonnie’s, just’ come 
a-scramblin’ forward an’ shake hands wid her, an’ 
God bless you all an’ give you happy lives an’ quick 
deaths, an’ I’se a-forgettin’ de las’ head of my sermon, 
but I guess, like some of de white ministers’ heads, it’s 
jus’ as well left off.” 

Every animal present pressed round Nonnie, and all 
got something to eat. She had in her pocket lumps 
of sugar for the horse, some sweet clover for the cow, 
the hemp for the hens, a bit of candy for the dogs, 
and nuts for Polly and me, though how she knew we 
were coming we didn’t know, and then—and then a 
dreadful thing happened. 




Chapter XII 


My Master Runs Away 


Right up out of a deep bed of brakes behind Nonnie’s 
stone pulpit started my master. He must have been 
lying there hidden, and clever as Nonnie was, and 
clever as Polly and I were, we had not known it. 

His face was white with rage, and he addressed 
Nonnie sternly, “What do you mean by that lamb 
rubbish?” 

Nonnie never said a word, but her big black eyes 
rolled helplessly. 

“How much do these people here know about me?” 
he went on in a quiet but very furious voice. 

Nonnie made a gesture that took in the whole 
pasture. 

“They know everything?” he asked, and she nodded 
her poor old head, while tears poured down her 
cheeks. 

Master Nappy put his hand in his pocket and flung 
at her feet a lot of paper money that I had taken 
such pains to collect. Then he wheeled round and 
made for the house, so blind with fury that he stag¬ 
gered as he walked. 

The animals all slunk away, and Nonnie sank in a 
heap on the ground, and buried her face in her hands. 
I saw no more of anyone, for my concern was with 
my master, and I tracked him as he went toward the 
house, taking good care, however, not to get too near 
him. 

He went in the back door and slipped stealthily up 
to his room. I crept by way of the trees to a maple 
108 




My Master Runs Away 


109 


outside his window, where he caught sight of me and 
shook his fist in my direction. '‘You got me into this 

mess—you-” and he called me his choicest bad 

names. Then he ordered me to come to him, but I 
knew better than to obey. 

He was packing his trunk and suit-case, and pres¬ 
ently, creeping from the room to find out what every¬ 
body was doing, he found the way clear to the Doctor’s 
office. His aunt was leaning over the front gate 
laughing and chatting with a neighbor, the children 
were on the sidewalk, and no one was looking his 
way. He stepped through the window and ran up 
the back way to the station, I, of course, following 
him at a distance. 

I saw him hurry to the waiting-room, and knew he 
would catch a train that I heard blowing in the dis¬ 
tance, and then I began to realize what was happening, 
and wended my way drearily home. 

The Doctor was reading to the children on the lawn 
at the back of the house. He often did this between 
afternoon tea-time and supper-time. To-day, strange 
to say, it was the story of a saintly old priest who 
lived hundreds of years ago and who was very fond 
of animals. He used to preach sermons to the birds 
and tell them that they should sing praises to their 
Creator, and he tamed a savage wolf who was killing 
children, and he even addressed thoughtful fishes who 
swam to the water’s edge to listen. 

“Sweet Saint Francis of Assisi, would that thou 
were here again!” said the Doctor, and closed the 
book. 

Like a monkey in a dream I looked about me and 
found that Polly had come to sit on the maple branch 
beside me. 

“Cheer up,” she said, “all is not lost.” 





no 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“My heart is broken, Polly Shillaber, ,, I said. “I 
have driven my master away. Oh! how I wish I had 
never stolen that money!” 

“He taught you to steal,” said Polly gently, and 
just here I must say that, though Polly is by nature 
pretty cranky in peaceful times, when real trouble 
comes she is a jewel. 

My tongue, usually so ready, could find nothing 
to say here, and she went on. “Sometimes the thing 
that drives you away is the thing that brings you 
back.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“Did you notice that he flung the money on the 
ground? A year ago he would have laughed at the 
village folk and taken it with him. Returning the 
money leaves the way open for his own return.” 

“They might arrest him, Polly Shillaber,” I said. 

She shook her grey head, and her lovely yellow eyes 
looked straight into mine. “Never in this village.” 

“Why not, Polly?” 

“Because everybody knows everybody here, and his 
mother was a great favorite.” 

“But in the meantime, Polly, he is desperate. I 
am afraid he will do some very bad thing.” 

“Come and see Nonnie,” said Polly softly. “She is 
nearly crazy.” 

I followed her sadly to Nonnie’s room in the attic. 
The poor old soul had come home and gone right to 
bed, and Mrs. Sandys, thinking she was sleeping, had 
not disturbed her. She lay on her bed, neither speak¬ 
ing nor moving, and when Polly lighted on her shoul¬ 
der she never looked at her. 

“You try her,” whispered Polly to me, and I crept 
up to the bedspread and put a clammy hand on her 
forehead. 




My Master Runs Away 


hi 


Nonnie shut her eyes and murmured, “Baby 
fingers—Nonnie’s lamb.” 

“Smooth her forehead,” suggested Polly, and I 
drew off the old woman’s white cap and stroked her 
hair as well as I could, for her wool was pretty kinky, / 

Presently there was a scream from below. Rachel 
had come upstairs to wash and dress for supper, and 
had discovered her brother’s trunk standing in the 
middle of the floor all ready to be taken to the station. 

Polly and I scuttled down. The whole family was 
there, Dr. and Mrs. Sandys looking alarmed, and the 
children behaving in a stormy way, for Master Nappy 
had been a great favorite with them. 

Rachel was inconsolable, and her aunt put her to 
bed; and then it occurred to her that Nonnie might 
have something to do with her nephew’s abrupt 
departure, so she went upstairs. 

The dear old woman could not speak; she just 
moved her head feebly, and Mrs. Sandys called her 
husband, who, after feeling her pulse, gave her a 
powder. 

I felt like a murderer, and Polly had all she could 
do to comfort me. She made me go to the veranda 
and showed me some nice tit-bits she had hidden 
away from me. They were all at my disposal now, 
but I could not touch them. 

“Polly,” I said, “my heart is sick, and my stomach 
is sick.” 

“Then go to bed,” she said; “but whose bed ? That 
is the question. You don’t want to sleep in your 
master’s room?” 

“I feel as if I never wanted to go in that room 
again,” I said, and I began crawling sadly upstairs 
on my hands and feet. The hands part of me led me 
to Nonnie, and I crept in bed beside her, for though 




112 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


it was a warm day, my trouble had made me cold 
all over. 

I seemed to do her good, for she revived a little 
and muttered: 

“Take up de young lambs. 

Tote ’em in your bosom. 

An’ let de ole sheep go.” 

“Good night,” said Polly to me. “The best thing 
you can do is to go to sleep.” 

“Is Nonnie very ill?” I asked anxiously. 

“No, I heard the Doctor say that she is only over¬ 
come by the shock of the boy’s departure. She has 
been this way before.” 

I lay in bed thinking harder than I ever had before 
thought in my monkey life. Polly had been good 
enough not to say a word of reproach to me, but I 
knew her opinion. I had been sowing since I came 
to the village, and now I was beginning my reaping. 
I had lost my own reputation, driven my master 
away, made Nonnie ill, and Rachel very unhappy, and 
spoiled the good work of the Sandyses in trying to 
reform their beloved nephew. 

I could fancy what it was like downstairs. Usually 
in the evening, when lessons were over, the children 
gathered round Master Nappy, and he told them won¬ 
derful stories of foreign places, being careful to say 
nothing that would shock them. While he spoke he 
never lost a chance to give them lessons in polite 
behavior, and they seemed to think piore of his advice 
than they did of what their parents told them. 

Lament was his especial charge, and he made him 
get up whenever his mother came into the room, and 
pull down the curtain for her or put it up, or do any¬ 
thing she wished. 




My Master Runs Away 


ii 3 


“A true gentleman always waits on women,” he 
said to the boy. 

Then he advised the children not to scream, and as 
his own voice was always pitched low, they took 
pains to imitate him—oh! what should we all do with¬ 
out that darling boy!—and I shivered and shook and 
chattered my teeth till something happened to com¬ 
fort me. 


H 




Chapter XIII 


A Trip for Nonnie 


Hour after hour went by, and I could not sleep. At 
last, in the middle of the night, I heard quiet steps, 
and there stood Dr. and Mrs. Sandys in dressing- 
gowns and with a lighted lamp. 

Dr. Sandys put the lamp on a table and looked at 
Nonnie, who was now sleeping calmly. “Ales/' he 
said, “Nonnie hasn’t been away from home for a 
long time.” 

“No, Harlowen,” she said, calling him by his old 
family name that had been used by the family in 
England hundreds of years ago. “I wish she could 
have a trip just now.” 

The Doctor smiled. “I had a letter from Brother 
Dick to-day. He said he would come up here and 
take charge of my practice for a fortnight if I wished 
a holiday.” 

Mrs. Sandys was pretty quick-witted. “And you 
would take Nonnie and me somewhere?” 

“Exactly! We’d take the double-seated carriage, 
drive around the shore road to grandfather’s, and ask 
his advice. He’s a wonderful old man, Ales, and we 
shall not have him for many years.” 

“Just the thing,” whispered Mrs. Sandys happily; 
“and how glad I shall be to see my beloved mother. 
Which of the children shall we take?” 

“Rachel, of course. She will have no heart for 
study after this blow.” 

“Harlowen, you are the best man in the world,” said 
Mrs. Sandys in a very loving way, and she squeezed 
114 




A Trip for Nonnie 115 

the sleeve of his purple dressing-gown in which he 
stood, looking just like a king. 

Soon they went away, and I crept under the bed¬ 
clothes, resolving in my monkey mind that I would 
be one of this party, and I was. 

The next morning, when Dr. Sandys went round 
the neighborhood, to hire two horses, for he had to 
leave Dancer for Dr. Dick, I went with him. I saw 
he was the leader of the expedition, and indeed, my 
dear friend Polly, to whom I whispered my hopes, said, 
“The Doctor is the boss of this family. Keep near 
him if you want anything.” 

I tried to please him in every way. I picked little 
specks off his coat, I offered him an all-day sucker 
that a nice man down at the post-office gave me, and 
that I had licked only once when his back was turned. 
I was careful to eat neatly, and not snatch, and I 
scratched myself just as little as possible. Yet hour 
after hour, as I trotted round after him, he took little 
notice of me, except to smile kindly once in a while. 

We were to start the next day, and as no mention 
had been made of me, I was rather despondent, but 
when I went to climb the stairs to Nonnie’s room that 
night, he burst into a great laugh, and said, “You may 
go, Slyboots.” 

I sprang back to him, and running up his trousers' 
leg, stroked his nice sleek brown hair till he flung up 
his head and said, “Go and comfort Nonnie.” 

Nonnie didn't hold up her head till she actually 
got in the back seat of the carriage the next morning. 
Then she began to take notice. She smoothed approv¬ 
ingly the smart new dust-coat that had been bought 
in the village dry goods store for her, and pushed 
farther back on her head the shiny black sun hat that 
was really an old one of Mrs. Sandys done over, but no 




n6 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


one would ever know it. I was curled up on her lap 
and Rachel, smiling now, was seated beside her. 

Nonnie had her master’s monkey and his dear sister 
—what more could she want outside of himself? So 
she smiled, too, and waved good-bye to the children, 
who were all out in the yard to see us start. 

The village nurse, who was young and frisky, and 
liked a good time, and yet who would be careful of 
the children, stood with them all around her. They 
were to have picnics every day after school, and now 
they skipped about us, except Benjie, and I saw the 
mother’s eye go to him. 

His lip was trembling, and finally he blurted out, 
“Benjie is mudder’s baby.” 

He was jealous of Rachel—the darling boy—and 
Mrs. Sandys sprang right out of the carriage. “Har- 
lowen, I cannot leave my baby.” 

“And I can’t leave mine,” said the young man with 
a jolly laugh, “so bring him along. There’s plenty 
of room.” 

Mrs. Sandys, though a good-sized woman, was as 
light on her feet as a cat, and in ten minutes she had 
run into the house, packed a bag with Benjie’s things, 
and was out again and into the front seat of the 
carriage with her baby between her and her husband. 

“I’se got a dirty face,” said Benjie, “I know I 
has, ’cause I’se been a-eatin’ of the good candy you 
guv me to be a good boy an’ stay home. Mus’ Benny 
throw it away?” 

“No, darling,” said his mother, hugging him to her. 
“We’re going on a holiday. Never mind about your 
face.” 

Now we were really off, and the neighbors and the 
children waved good-bye as we rolled out to the 
street. Some of the homing pigeons followed us a 




A Trip for Nonnie 117 

little way, but none of them went far from their 
happy home. 

One faithful follower we had—the fat dog Millie, 
who tugged along beside us over the white road. I 
shall never forget the sight of that fox terrier on our 
trip. She used to run so close to the wheels that 
there was always a layer of dust on her eyelashes. 
Dr. Sandys often invited her into the carriage, and 
sometimes she got in, but usually she ran. 

“To reduce my flesh,” she said gravely to me when 
I asked her why she did not drive with us. “I am 
too fat, and when one is too fat, one dies young. I 
have a pleasant life with the agreeable Sandys children, 
and I wish to live.” 

She did not growl much at me now, for I had found 
out what was the matter with her. One day when I 
was playing with her and stroking her throat, I found 
a lump, and she said it made her nervous, and so she 
growled to keep persons away from her. 

“A doctor’s dog should not have anything the 
matter with her,” I said, and she replied that Dr. 
Sandys knew all about it, for he was a man who kept 
a strict look-out for the health of all his animals. He 
had already operated on her throat, and there was no 
infection there, but it made her nervous. 

“There is always a reason for animals being cross,” 
she said, “just as there is always a reason for human 
beings acting disagreeably.” 

I felt badly to think that Polly had disappeared 
just about the time that we were to start. She was 
the only member of the family absent, for even the 
hens and the cow and the horse had been in the yard. 
I knew that she was keenly interested in our trip, 
for she had chattered all the day before about it. 
However, Miss Polly had a longer head than I thought 




n8 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


she had, and I shall soon tell why she did not shriek 
out a farewell to us. 

We drove all the morning along a smooth road that 
led down the Valley past fertile farms where rasp¬ 
berries and blackberries were being picked for the city 
markets. The delicious red strawberries and the black 
and red cherries were gone by this time, but there were 
plenty of other fruits and vegetables, and loads of 
young apples, pears and plums were ripening on the 
trees in the big orchards. 

There was a string of villages all down the 
Valley, each one with a character of its own, 
and in between the villages in most places large 
trees bordered the roadside, so that driving was a 
pleasure. 

“This is the proper way to travel,” I heard Mrs. 
Sandys say to her husband. “How much better it 
is than tearing along in an automobile or in a train. 
Dear me! there is another of those motors coming. 
How often we have to turn out!” 

“We have to put up with them,” said her husband, 
“since they mean progress. Now suppose we stop 
here at Uncle Tobias Sandys’ for dinner.” 

What a magnificent stock farm we rolled into! I 
was fascinated by the horses and dogs, but they had 
nothing so wonderful in the way of animal life as 
something that emerged from under our back seat 
with an apologetic little squawk. 

We were all convulsed with amusement. There 
was Miss Polly, very hot from her confinement, but 
very cheerful and sure that she would be received 
with pleasure. 

Rachel hugged her. “You precious rogue—but you 
shall have a nice time. Did the old family pet want a 
holiday?” 




A Trip for Nonnie 


119 

“Polly wants a cracker and a drink/’ and the parrot 
ran out her funny tongue. 

I walked right up to her. “Look here, Polly 
Shillaber,” I said, “I don’t understand you.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked in a guilty way. 

“You know what I mean, you old humbug. Why 
did you tell me that I must curry favor with the 
Doctor in order to get an invitation to come on this 
drive?” 

“Because I wished to give you pleasure,” she 
replied. 

“I did the honest thing,” I went on, “and you 
have been sneaky, and what astonishes me is that 
while I am always being blamed for doing the under¬ 
hand thing, you are praised for doing it.” 

“I am only a bird,” she said, “and the good Sandyses 
know it.” 

“And I am only a monkey,” I said. “Now what 
is the difference between us?” 

She hung her pretty grey head and bit at the gravel 
with her beak, for we were standing right on the 
drive while the Tobias Sandys family greeted our 
family. 

“Come up on this wall,” she said at last, “for I 
see you want to argue this thing out, and we might 
get trodden on here by some of those beautiful thor¬ 
oughbreds that are coming in.” 

“Come away from the horses,” I said, “and talk 
about yourself. 

She cackled feebly. “You have got me in a regular 
hole in a tree, Jimmy Gold-Coast, and I shall have 
to apologize. At first I did counsel you to take the 
honest course and beg for an invitation, but when you 
got it, I began to think how lonely I should be without 
you, and I thought I should like to come, too. I did 




120 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


not dare to wheedle, for I felt the Doctor would say 
that he had enough live-stock with you and Millie, who 
always goes to grandfather’s, so I really had to play 
a little trick on everybody.” 

The old thing was so sweet and cajoling that I had 
to forgive her, but I said earnestly, “I am really 
trying to be a better monkey, Polly, and I am seeking 
information. Do all good birds and animals some¬ 
times slip up and do bad things?” 

“I fear they do,” said Polly gravely, “but that 
mustn’t stop you from trying to do better next time.” 

“Does Mrs. Sandys ever do anything naughty?” 
I asked. 

Polly thought a minute, then she said, “Not very 
often, though sometimes she doesn’t tell her husband 
why she wishes him to do certain things.” 

“That’s no harm,” I said; “all women do that.” 

“That’s all I did to-day,” said Polly. “I just hid 
the truth under the seat.” 

“Polly,” I said, “I believe that when we look at 
others, our eyes are straight, and when they look at 
ourselves they are crossed. I know I am a naughty 
monkey, but I don’t believe I am as naughty as you 
think I am.” 

“My head aches, Jimmy Gold-Coast,” she said 
patiently, “and your talk confuses me. Let’s go to 
that Virginia creeper by the window. The smell of 
asparagus and butter sauce coming from the dining¬ 
room is perfectly fascinating.” 

We certainly had a good dinner that day. Every¬ 
body in the Valley dined at noon. At night we had 
supper with other relatives, but I must not stop to 
describe our life for the next few days, but just say 
that it was a succession of visits to hospitable homes, 
where everybody knew everybody, as Polly had said, 




A Trip for Nonnie 


121 


and everybody visited everybody. I recognized many 
of our hosts as having driven their carriages into the 
Sandys 5 back yard and put their horses into the barn, 
and afterwards gone to the spare room, where they 
stayed as long as they liked. 

All this part of the Valley was English-speaking, but 
after two days we came to a long blue bay where 
everyone spoke French. There were many villages 
like beads on a string along the shores of this Baie 
Sainte Marie, and I gazed at them in delight from the 
back seat, where Polly and I usually sat on Nonnie’s 
capacious lap. She had her feet on a footstool, and 
did not wriggle as Rachel did. 

We stopped for the night in a place called Petit 
Ruisseau, and Dr. and Mrs. Sandys talked to the 
people in French, but Rachel, who timidly tried a 
few words on them, could not make them understand. 

I loved the pretty shy children and the quaint 
women with the black handkerchiefs on their heads. 
They reminded me of little journeys I had taken 
in France with my beloved master. 

‘‘Why do the old ones cry when they talk?” I 
asked Polly, and she said they were recalling a sad 
time long ago when the English turned their fore¬ 
fathers out of their homes in the beautiful Evangeline 
country. After their children struggled back they 
looked in the windows of these old homes and saw the 
English and Americans enjoying them, and they had 
to come to this fishing country, where the land was 
not so good.” 

“But everybody is happy now,” Polly wound up, 
“and all races live peaceably together in Canada.” 

“In Nova Scotia, you mean, don’t you?” I asked. 

“No, I mean Canada. This is a great big country 
divided into provinces, and Nova Scotia is only one 




122 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


of them—the best, of course, and the most romantic, 
but still only one. Haven’t you heard the children 
sing ‘O! Canada’?” 

“Yes, I have,” I said, “and ‘God Save the King.’ 
I suppose that is because England rules over you.” 

“England does not rule over us,” she said stub¬ 
bornly. “We’re a Dominion, and England and her 
Dominions belong to the British Empire.” 

“But you all stick together when there is trouble, 
don’t you?” I asked. 

“Certainly! England is the big mother parrot, and 
her Dominions are like the young parrots. When the 
kites come we all flock together and drive away the 
mischievous birds. By the way, Jimmy Gold-Coast, 
why do you speak of yourself and your master as 
being English?” 

“Well, we have lived mostly in London.” 

“And you were born on the Gold Coast, and he was 
born in Nova Scotia—you’re both Canadians.” 

How I laughed at the funny old bird, and told her 
that as Nova Scotia was so beautiful, I thought I 
would choose Canada for my country. 

So we joked and chatted as we drove along, and 
everyone tried to forget the shadow that was hanging 
over us. Poor old Nonnie scarcely opened her mouth. 
She just sat and thought all day long, and once I 
heard her mutter, “Ole black thing mus’ learn to hold 
her tongue.” 

Everybody was very nice to her in the places where 
we stopped, and at the French inn they gave her one 
of the best rooms in the house. She did not eat with 
the family, though, and in one house where a place 
was set for her beside the Sandyses at the table, she 
drew back and said, “My great-grandfadder was a 
king in Africa—I eats alone.” 




A Trip for Nonnie 


123 


Then how she laughed, and everybody joined her. 
Polly said to me, “If Nonnie were well educated, she 
could associate with anyone. Pve heard her say, 
‘I can’t talk like white folkses, an’ wherefore should I 
sup wid dem? Dey’re oneasy and I’m oneasy.’” 

Would that I had time to tell of the adventures 
we had, and the interesting places we passed through 
when we left the French country, but I must hurry 
on with my story, for I have left my master in a very 
bad frame of mind, and with precious little money 
in his pocket. I must just say, though, that I was 
struck by the number of schools everywhere, and Polly 
told me that Nova Scotians as a class care more for 
education than money. Of course, the school-houses 
were closed just now, as it was holiday time, but I 
had often prowled round the one in Downton, and I 
knew just what the children did. 

I liked best when their fresh young voices came 
floating out the windows as they repeated all together 
the names of the counties in their province—I can 
hear now, though many years have elapsed, the sing¬ 
song tones: 

“Antigonish, Pictou, Cumberland, Colchester, 

Hants, Kings, Annapolis, Digby, 

Yarmouth, Shelburne, Queens, Lunenburg, 

Halifax, Guysborough, Richmond, Cape Breton, 
Inverness and Victoria.” 

They always pronounced Victoria with a long accent 
on the last A, and brought the letter out with a funny 
drawl that made me press my hand over my mouth 
to keep from snickering, for if the teacher had seen 
me at the window, she would have driven me away. 

I must not forget to tell of Millie’s escapade, which 
took place near a fine little manufacturing place called 
Yarmouth, where one took the boat for Boston. 




Chapter XIV 


We Arrive in Rossignol 


As we were driving past the villas on the outskirts 
of Yarmouth, all of us happy and comfortable, little 
Benjie in between his parents, and Polly and I on the 
back seat with Nonnie and Rachel, a sudden gloom 
fell over the animal part of the company. I snuggled 
under Nonnie’s coat, and Polly crawled down to the 
bottom of the carriage. 

Mrs. Sandys turned round, and Nonnie said, “De 
critters smell somethin’.” 

Mrs. Sandys looked over the wheel at Millie, who 
had left the road and was trotting under the 
carriage. “It’s a circus,” she said. “I read in the 
paper that one was coming here, and there are the 
tents.” 

Polly gave a horrid squawk. “Millie’s a good dog. 
Go hide yourself, doggie.” Then she held her tongue, 
and did not speak again till we had driven through 
the flourishing town. 

The big tents were up in a field, and as the Doctor 
averted his head from them, for all the Sandys hated 
to hear of performing animals, I peeped from under 
Nonnie’s coat at Millie, and saw that she had come 
from under the carriage, and was running along a 
foot-path. 

Presently she darted aside into a thicket of flower¬ 
ing shrubs, and we did not see her until we had left 
the town far behind us. 

Mrs. Sandys was worried, but Nonnie said, “You 
let dat dog alone. She know dis road like a human. 

124 




We Arrive in Rossignol 125 

She got some business of her own. She jine de band 
later on.” 

So she did join the band, for as the Doctor sat on 
the front seat looking back on the road by which we 
had come, Millie appeared in sight, and going very 
slowly. 

I started from Nonnie’s lap at the dirty, bedraggled 
dog that Millie was escorting. He was in a dreadful 
state, and had been struck by something over one 
eye, which was closed and bleeding. 

Dr. Sandys handed the reins to his wife and sprang 
out of the carriage. 

“Someone has been abusing this dog,” he said, as 
he washed the wound in one of the tiny streams that 
run like pretty ribbons across Nova Scotian roads. 

The dog was terribly frightened and nervous, 
and kept shuddering and looking back toward the 
town. 

The Doctor took out his black bag, put something 
in the dog’s eye, then wrapped him in one of the 
carriage rugs and lifted him in beside Nonnie. 

How the human beings talked and speculated about 
that dog, but Polly and I had his history in a jiffy. 
I dropped down beside him, and stroking him gently 
to give him courage, told him what a good home he 
had fallen into, and Polly said, “Talk, dog, and tell 
us who you are, where you come from, and whether 
you want to stay with us.” 

“I am a circus dog,” said the poor little fellow, 
“and have been performing for five years, but I have 
been so cruelly treated that I am broken down and 
can’t remember my parts. My trainer kicked me 
out to-day, and told me to go drown myself, and I 
was just sitting looking at a stream by the roadside 
and wishing that I could end my misery, when this 




126 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


good fat dog here came running up to me, and told 
me to keep a stiff upper lip and come along with her. 
So here I am.” 

“And here you’ll stay,” cackled Polly, “unless the 
good Sandys family finds a home for you.” 

“If I could just have one day without a beating!” 
sighed the poor little dog. “I’m sore all over.” 

“You won’t get beaten here,” said Polly. “People 
who don’t beat each other don’t beat their animals. 
Cheer up! here’s Millie begging to be taken in. She’ll 
lick your sores, and there’s healing in her tongue.” 

Dr. Sandys reined in the two horses, and Millie 
was lifted in beside her new friend, and did lick his 
sores until her tongue got tired. Then she lay gazing 
happily at the sleeping Shaker, as Rachel named the 
new-comer. 

Hipper and Hopper were the two stout horses who 
drew us along, and Polly and I had a good deal of fun 
with them, for they were utterly without humor. 
There are horses like that, but not many. I tried to 
get acquainted with them that very night, and asked 
them where they came from. 

“We belong to Widow Mary Ann Willard of Wil- 
lowdale Farm,” said Hopper. 

“She that was Mary Ann Duckworth,” said Hipper. 

“What do you mean by, ‘She that was’?” I 
asked. 

That puzzled me, and the two horses glanced at 
each other as if to say, “What an idiot that monkey 
is.” However, Polly helped me out, and explained that 
Mrs. Willard had been a Miss Duckworth before she 
was married. 

“Where were you born?” I next asked the horses. 

“Born on Willowdale Farm,” said Hopper; “raised 
on Willowdale Farm, and live on Willowdale Farm.” 




We Arrive in Rossignol 


127 


“Have you travelled at all ?” I inquired. 

“Never travelled,” said Hipper; “never wish to. 
From the barn to the pasture, and up the mountains, 
and up and down the Valley is all we want.” 

“You’re travelling now,” I said. 

“Yes, and we don’t like it,” said Hopper. “A 
strange stall every night. I wish your master had left 
us with our widow.” 

“I think it’s fun to travel,” I said. 

They never uttered a word. They didn’t care a rap 
about me. 

I tried them with the new dog. “Wasn’t it kind in 
Millie to rescue that terrified animal ?” I asked. 

They were silent until I badgered them for an 
answer, when Hipper said, “ ‘Don’t bother yourself 
with what goes on outside your blinders’ is our 
motto.” 

“What about that saucy horse-fly that’s teasing 
you?” I inquired. 

“I wish I could catch him,” said Hopper, stamping 
viciously. “I’d make mincemeat of him.” 

“Would you like me to attend to him?” I said. 

They both looked eagerly at me, and I leaped up, 
made a horrible face at the fly, and sweeping my 
fingers through the air, nearly caught him. The fly 
was frightened to death, and darted away to pastures 
new. 

“Now, gentlemen,” I remarked, “have you anything 
to say to me ?” 

“Thank you,” they both uttered politely, and 
Polly, who was sitting on a near-by manger nearly 
killing herself laughing, said, “Come away, there are 
some folks like that. Just hear them munching away 
and muttering that the oats are not half so good as 
the Widow Willard’s-. What do they care for you 




128 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


and me and the Gold Coast? Their world is bounded 
by the Willowdale fence. If they’d been trained 
without blinders, they might be different.” 

These horses amused me, and I went to bed chuck¬ 
ling over their funny solemn ways. 

The next day and the next we drove through 
Shelburne County with its jagged shore line, for 
Nova Scotia, though a small province, has a thousand 
miles of coast, and each little bay seems prettier than 
the one before it. Finally we came to the beautiful 
Liverpool Bay in Queen’s County. 

Here a good-sized river came sweeping down to the 
Atlantic past the interesting-looking town on its 
banks, where rows of stately old mansions stood 
facing the water. We did not stop here, but drove 
for several miles until we arrived in the village of 
Rossignol. 

“Why is it called Rossignol?” asked Rachel. 

“One Frenchman who was drowned here gave his 
name to this place which was settled by a shipload of 
Boston folk,” said Dr. Sandys. “This village is more 
New England than New England, and is quite differ¬ 
ent from the Valley which is mixed English, Irish, 
Scottish and Welsh, with a sprinkling of Americans.” 

The village spread itself out in a leisurely way on 
both sides of the river, and the houses, though fairly 
near together, were not crowded, but had long farms 
and gardens extending back of them. I could see 
that the land here was not so fertile nor so free from 
stones as in the Annapolis Valley. Huge rocks, often 
fern-covered and very picturesque, stood right in 
the middle of hay fields. I also noticed that they 
were later here with their haying than in the Valley. 
Men were out in the fields, and the wagons, loaded with 
the fragrant grass, were moving in and out among 




We Arrive in Rossignol 129 

the rocks, leaving a warm delicious odor floating behind 
them. 

When we got to the middle of the village where 
the air was full of the most pleasant buzzing and 
humming of saw-mills, the Doctor pulled up Hopper 
and Hipper before a big cream-colored house standing 
at the top of a cross street that faced a long bridge over 
the river. That was Grandfather’s house, and there 
stood the old man himself in the high porch with the 
wooden seats each side of it. Enormous locust trees 
drooped their branches over his head. The blossoms 
were gone, but beside the veranda steps were bunches 
of syringa which were in full bloom. The air was 
heavy with their perfume, and on Grandfather’s right 
hand stood Grandmother, a dear old lady whose hair 
was as white as the syringas. 

“Looks like a golden wedding,” said Mrs. Sandys, 
as she observed the crowd of aunts and uncles and 
nieces and nephews who stood behind the grand¬ 
parents. How they ran down the steps when they saw 
us, and what an exclaiming and embracing went on! 

I rap for my life from the children, and whispered 
to Polly who flew after me, “Show me that closet you 
told me about, will you?” 

She took me to the closet under the stairs, and 
fortunately some of the children had left the door 
open. 

“Naughty Polly Shillaber,” I said, turning to her 
and speaking indistinctly, for my mouth was full, “you 
didn’t tell me half the glories of this closet. I never 
saw such cake and preserved fruit in my life.” 

I stuffed myself, but Polly would not take a thing, 
for she said she must really watch herself now that I 
was so sharp about watching her. 

“Don’t you really want some of these goodies?” I 




130 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


asked, as I crammed some more crystallized figs in my 
cheek pouches. 

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I’m hungry.” 

“I’m beginning to see,” I cried. “I’m beginning to 
see. I’m backsliding, for I’m stealing, but you are 
going ahead. You’re not doing the thing you want to 
do because you know it’s wrong. To-morrow I shall 
begin being an honest monkey.” 

“To-morrow,” she said thoughtfully. “Oh! Jimmy 
Gold-Coast, to-morrow is a good day, but to-day is a 
heap better,” and didn’t I have proof of this, for at 
that moment the lively Aunt Mercy, who kept house 
for the grandparents, came bustling along, and seeing 
what I was doing ran to get the key of the closet. 

All that day there was a joyful hubbub going on, 
for the old house swarmed with relatives coming and 
going. They were mostly a lean, dark lot, very lively 
and sprightly in their ways, and none of them were 
very fat. 

“The type of New Englanders of two or three 
generations ago,” said the Doctor to Rachel, but she 
did not hear him. She was too much taken up with 
her cousins whom she had not seen since the summer 
before. 

Polly was chuckling, “Jimmy Gold-Coast, you’ll find 
that these water ducks are not so much given to farm¬ 
ing as the Valley folk. They travel a lot, and go 
mostly to Boston where they all have relatives—look 
at those young ones out on the river. You wouldn’t 
see that sight on our quiet Valley river.” 

Above the dam the wide river was covered with logs 
for the near-by saw-mills, and some of the Sandys’ 
children were out on those logs. I saw that Rachel 
was among them. They skipped about like young 
goats, and the rough logs twisted and turned as if 




We Arrive in Rossignol 131 

they were trying to plunge the lively boys and girls 
in the dark brown water of the Liverpool. 

I shuddered and said: “Suppose one fell down, Polly 
Shillaber-. Suppose Rachel’s foot slipped?” 

“She might drown, and then again she mightn’t,” 
said Polly coolly. “Don’t fret about her, she can 
swim like a fish, and her boy cousins wouldn’t let a 
visitor drown. They’re very well brought up. Last 
summer two of those younger children you see out 
there were seated in a motor-boat tied up at a sea wall 
down at the mouth of the river, when a horse took 
fright and plunged into the river, carrying with him 
a heavy wagon. The wagon on going over the wall 
fell into the motor-boat, and turned it bottom side up. 
The children, instead of screaming in fright, watched 
the cart coming, dived into the water an instant before 
it struck the boat, and swam to safety toward their 
father, who had plunged into the water to help them. 

“What became of the horse?” I asked. 

“He was as level-headed as the children, being a 
Sandys’ horse,” said Polly proudly, “and swam after 
them to the shore.” 

I was extremely interested in these cousins, and 
watched them from day to day. The programme for 
the Rossignol children was about the same as in the 
Valley, namely, that they had to help the parents, and 
every morning after breakfast some task was set each 
child. 

At Cousin John William’s next door, the girls 
washed the breakfast dishes, swept the floors, tidied 
the broad verandas that went all round the house 
upstairs and down, while the boys of the family raked 
the yard, weeded the flower beds, swept off the broad 
sidewalk, ran errands for the mother to the village 
stores and then cut kindling. 





132 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


This kindling cutting amused me greatly, for there 
was no end to it. All about the village were immense 
forests, so they had a never-ending supply of wood. 
The men sawed the big logs, but the boys had to chop 
up the thin pieces, and they made huge piles of it out 
in the yards or in the enormous wood-houses that 
stretched behind each house. 

A favorite amusement of Cousin Christopher’s next 
door was to stack up his kindling in neat piles, then 
dare any child to knock them down. Rachel was ex¬ 
ceedingly bold about this, and would give a pile a push 
with her foot, then speed away up to the barn, spring 
over the low fence that kept the cattle out of the hay 
field, and run over this field up to the meadow, her 
cousin after her yelling like an Indian and threatening 
what he would do to her if he caught her. 

He never did, for the only day that he got at all 
near she threw herself into the lovely deep, dark brook 
that wound through the meadow, swam over to 
Moose Hill, sneaked home a back way, and was in dry 
clothes and looking as innocent as a lamb before he 
got back. 

Rachel’s task every morning was to keep up her 
Latin, and she was shut up in her bedroom, which 
was a dear little room off her aunt’s. In the big closet 
of this little room were queer things that her seafaring 
uncles had brought from the West Indies, and also 
two suits of uniform that Grandfather used to wear 
when he was in the militia. Every time Rachel felt 
lazy about studying, she would explore the closet and 
sometimes dress up in the old uniforms. She looked 
very comical in the heavy cloth garments with their 
touches of gold and red, and saluting herself in the 
glass she would laugh so hard that tears would roll 
down her cheeks. 




We Arrive in Rossignol 


133 


I was always with her. She said that I was a help in 
studying this strange language, for she knew monkeys 
must have invented it. Then if she heard anyone 
coming to the room when she was in uniform, I was 
of assistance to her in stripping it off and hiding it. 
Once she made me ill and herself, too, for discovering 
a little bottle in the closet with some strong-smelling 
stuff in it, she used to put drops on lumps of sugar 
and eat them and give them to me, till one day that 
her aunt smelt my breath and explained to her what 
paregoric was. Rachel felt terribly, and said that she 
would never again taste anything in a strange bottle 
until she had showed it to a grown person. 

If the other children finished their tasks before she 
did, they came and yelled under her window and then 
she put her fingers in her ears and set to work to 
get her studying done. Every other day Grandmother 
called her to do her stint, which was a long seam on 
a sheet. How Rachel hated it! Her hands got hot 
and sticky, and her thimble rolled to the floor, and the 
sweet old Grandmother was inclined to let her off, and 
did so unless Aunt Ales came along. She was very 
particular with her young niece, and properly so, 
Polly Shillaber said, for the grandparents were apt to 
be too easy with Rachel on account of her being an 
orphan. 

Grandmother often took Rachel by the hand and 
slipped up to the orchard with her. Apples were very 
precious here, for they did not grow as abundantly as 
in the Valley, and Grandfather was guarding his sweet 
apple trees. He had forbidden the boys to knock any 
off the trees. They could only pick up those that 
fell on the ground, but Grandmother kept a long stick 
hidden in the grass, and she used to strike off apples 
for Rachel and put them in a little basket that the 




134 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Indians made and hide them in her wardrobe. Oh! 
she was a kind old grandmother and Aunt Ales said 
it was a good thing that Rachel did not live here all 
the time for the grandparents would spoil her. 

I found that here in this village, as in the Valley, 
there were a great many societies and clubs and 
organized sport for children and grown people, but 
the children when not out with play leaders had a 
good deal of fun among themselves. 




Chapter XV 


Grandmother's Ghost Story 


Our Sandys children were steeped in stories of adven¬ 
ture of all nations. Sometimes they were Canadians 
who were fighting Indians or the French, or even 
Americans when they had tried to raid Canada in old 
times, but usually they were Greeks and Romans. 

Many a time have I taken part in the travels of 
a peculiar man called i^neas. Sometimes I was his 
poor old father whom he had a passion for carrying 
on his back. Sometimes I was a very queer lady 
called Dido, who seemed to fancy him more than he 
fancied her, and who finally burnt herself on a heap 
of wood. I was chosen for this part on account of 
my ability to jump off that funeral pyre after 
the match was lighted, in spite of my long-trained 
dress. 

I was always a Trojan, because Rachel did not like 
the Greeks. I didn’t care for these Greek and Trojan 
things, and always hid myself if I had fair warning, 
for what with the antics I had to go through with as 
Dido and the dreadful smells and smoke from burning 
Troy, the game was too fierce for me. 

I am happy to say that a day came when the Greek 
and Trojan games were forbidden by no less a person 
than Grandfather himself. The children fooled him, 
and, like most people, he did not like to be fooled. 

One night he was sound asleep when dear old Grand¬ 
mother woke him by pinching his arm softly and 
saying, “Malachi, I hate to disturb you, but I fear 
for my roses.” 


135 




136 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“What’s that? What’s that?” asked Grandfather 
sleepily, for we knew just what he said and she 
said, as he told the story all over the village the next 
day. 

“I fear that Cousin John William’s cow will get my 
roses,” repeated Grandmother. 

“Where is she? Where is she?” asked Grandfather, 
stumbling out of bed and feeling for some clothes, for 
he was blinder at night than in the daytime. 

“Out in the yard, Malachi, and she’s feeding toward 
the garden. She may reach her head over the fence.” 

“Bother John William and his cow,” said Grand¬ 
father, but he got up and tottered out-of-doors, Grand¬ 
mother calling after him, “Be careful, Malachi; don’t 
fall.” 

The old man felt his way along the side of the 
house, and sure enough there was a ghastly white cow 
apparently on her way to his wife’s garden. 

“Get out of here,” said Grandfather softly, trying 
to remember the sleepers in the near-by houses. 

The cow wouldn’t stir, and Grandfather, going up, 
gave her some good whacks with his cane, but still she 
wouldn’t move, and then he raised his foot and gave 
her a push that almost sent him over himself. 

She went gliding down the gentle incline to the 
street in such a queer way that it roused Grandfather’s 
suspicions, and hurrying after her, he passed his hand 
over her white body. 

She wasn’t a cow at all. She was a horse, and she 
had a window in her which was suddenly opened, 
and to his amazement, Grandfather was addressed 
indignantly by two of his Greek grandchildren, who, 
thinking he was a Trojan, were just about to open up 
an attack on him when they discovered who he was 
and scrambled from their place of refuge. 




Grandmother's Ghost Story 


137 


Grandfather spluttered so much that he roused us 
all, and I sprang from bed, and Nonnie rolled out, and 
we both put our heads out the window in time to 
hear Grandfather’s roar, “You’ll surprise the Trojans 
in the morning, will you! Well, I’ll surprise 
the Greeks to-night! I fear you with your gifts— 
get that beast out of my yard this instant. 
You have nearly frightened your Grandmother to 
death.” 

The two Greek children went behind their horse and 
pushed it out the gate and down the hill with such 
vigor that they lost control of it, and it went gliding 
to the bank and into the water, where it probably 
frightened many Trojan fishes as it went floating out 
to sea. 

Grandfather had the whole set of warriors lined up 
before him the next morning, and finding that there 
had been some pretty hot fighting going on, especially 
between Rachel, who was ALneas, and her cousin 
Dan, who was Achilles, he said, “You children stop 
playing in dead languages and keep to living ones, or 
I’ll wallop you.” 

There were many jokes through the village about 
the children’s horse, and Rachel said thoughtfully, 
“We’ll be Scots and English. That will please Grand¬ 
father, for his sister married a man who came from 
Inverness. Come on, all ye ex-Trojans, and be sworn 
in as MacHadras,” and she went through with some 
quaint ceremonies that made them blood brothers 
and sisters of her, the only member of her clan in the 
place, singing meanwhile the spirited song: 

“A Highland lad my love was born, 

The Lowland laws he held in scorn; 

But he still was faithfu’ to his clan. 

My gallant braw John Highlandman.” 




138 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


For days they practiced the wild cry of the family: 
“Who threatens a MacHadra threatens the clan”; then 
she led her shouting band up and down the streets 
and into the fields in search of the treacherous clan 
Gregor, which had long continued in “blood, slaughter, 
theft and robbery,” against these model MacHadras. 

Poor Rachel! She did not know then of the forays 
against society of her own father and brother. 

Her mountain fastnesses were the rocks of the pas¬ 
ture, and her trusty claymore a barrel stave, and she 
gave such good clouts with it that a boy cousin, whom 
she caught one day in a fair field of battle, exclaimed 
as he rubbed himself ruefully, “If Grandfather got a 
crack from that claymore, he’d send us back to Greeks 
and Trojans.” 

Of all their games, I liked best the running ones, 
and I always sped along by Rachel’s side. These 
games were the favorites for rainy days, but some¬ 
times, if it poured too hard, Mrs. Sandys made me 
stay in the house. I was a pretty healthy little 
monkey by this time, for good food, good air and 
plenty of exercise had taken away from me my former 
rather delicate appearance. 

If I was kept in, I watched the children from the 
windows, for one could go all around the house and 
survey the country from every side. What they liked 
best when it rained was permission to get as wet as 
possible, and they always began the day’s performance 
by running to all the hogsheads that stood at the 
corners of wood-sheds and back kitchens to catch 
nice soft rain-water, and jumping up and down in 
them as hard as they could. Then they flocked to 
the river, and getting out boats and canoes, practiced 
rescue work, upsetting themselves and gallantly aiding 
each other to reach the shore, singing meanwhile their 




Grandmother’s Ghost Story 


139 


Canadian boat songs. To wind up, they usually 
manipulated their birch-bark canoes through some 
non-dangerous rapids, and then tore to the house in 
response to the calls from the big conch shells that 
their fathers brought from the West Indies, and their 
mothers blew for them to come and change their 
clothes. 

If it was a hopelessly rainy day, they played all 
manner of games in the long wood-sheds at the backs 
of the houses. 

I did not understand why the people in this village 
by the river had such enormous out-buildings, till 
Polly told me it was on account of their boats and 
canoes and supplies for their ships and saw-mills. All 
the big things were stored in the sheds, but in the 
attics of these seafaring people were mines of treasures 
that reminded me of some lines my master often 
repeated about the 

“Beauty and mystery of the ships. 

And the magic of the sea.” 

The children played in the attics by the hour, and 
sometimes Grandmother gave them a tea-party in 
hers, and while they gobbled up her dainties, she told 
them the old but ever-interesting story of their Grand¬ 
father’s shipyard. 

It seems that years and years before any of them 
were born, Grandfather had fitted out a lovely ship 
that was to go sailing away to the West Indies with a 
cargo of salt cod and Canadian produce of all kinds, 
and that was to come back laden with “sugar and 
spice and all things nice” for the Nova Scotians. 

Unfortunately, when the beautiful ship got outside 
Liverpool light, she struck a sunken rock and went to 
pieces. A part of her cargo was rescued and carried to 




140 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Grandfather’s shipyard, which was half-way between 
Liverpool and Rossignol. In this shipyard was a long 
storehouse, and in one end of it lived a caretaker and 
his wife. Grandmother said that one day when she 
was a young married woman she saw her husband 
come into the house and get his gun, and when she 
asked him what he was going to do with it, he said he 
was going to protect his property, for someone was 
trying to burn down his storehouse in the shipyard. 

Grandmother said she would like to go with him, 
and after some coaxing, he allowed her to drive down 
the river with him. She said it was ten o’clock in the 
evening when they arrived, and in the shipyard were 
a number of wagons, for others had heard about the 
mysterious happenings and had come to see if they 
could understand what they meant. 

The children always opened their eyes very wide 
when Grandmother came to this part, for although 
they had heard the story many times, they liked the 
old familiar thrill. 

“And so, my dears,” Grandmother would say, 
“when the clock struck twelve, and we were all sitting 
quietly in the caretaker’s little parlor, Grandfather 
with his gun across his knee, such a clatter began. 
The caretaker’s wife, who was a comely creature, rose 
and clasped to her breast her tiny babe, who was 
awaked by the awesome bangings and rollings upstairs 
in the loft, as if many ships were at sea and in distress. 
Even the shingles on the roof seemed to be clapping 
their hands, and just on the eve of my fainting, a 
miraculous ball of fire leaped from goodness knew 
where, and rolling wildly to and fro in the yard, burnt 
itself out.” 

“And what did Grandfather do?” the children 
always asked breathlessly. 




Grandmother’s Ghost Story 141 

“He rushed to the loft with the other men and led 
the search for hidden miscreants, but there were none 
there. By the time they arrived it was as calm as 
a summer day up in the long attic, and though they 
plunged behind sails and rigging and ships’ fitting of 
all kinds, they found nothing, and so they came down 
again, and I revived and we drove home. Night after 
night the curious happenings took place, till the whole 
country-side was aroused and crowds of persons drove 
in to witness and try to solve the vexing puzzle.” 

“And what was the end of the story?” the children 
always asked, though they knew it quite well. 

“The end was that a young sailor confessed he had 
been practicing black art just to amuse himself, but 
the fretted baby died, and he was sorry for his sin 
and soon died himself. That shows we should not do 
forbidden things,” and Grandmother went on to preach 
the children a nice little sermon. 

“And have you ever seen his ghost?” they would 
all say together. 

Grandmother always shut her mouth primly at this, 
then after a while opened it to remark severely, “Your 
Grandfather does not believe in ghosts, my dears,” and 
she would drink a cup of weak tea with them and then 
go downstairs to her arm-chair by one of the dining¬ 
room windows, where she sat nearly all the time 
knitting socks for her grandchildren. 

From this window she could see what went on in the 
yard, and also catch glimpses of the villagers going by 
on the sidewalks. She wore a woollen wrap called 
a sontag, and the side of it toward the window was 
faded a light blue. I shall never forget the sight of 
her long, pale face, so sweet and kind, and the happy 
smile she gave the members of the family as they 
passed through the room or sat down to talk to her. 




142 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Such a beautiful old age, and I thought of the 
many unhappy old people I had seen out in the world, 
some of them beating their breasts and wishing for 
death. 

Polly adored these attic talks of Grandmother’s, for 
she told the children many tales of early days in the 
province, and the first time I went up she watched me 
narrowly and was bitterly disappointed when I was 
not overawed by Grandmother’s ghost story. 

“That’s nothing to what I’ve seen in the East,” I 
said, and I went on to tell her of wonders like fakirs 
throwing ropes in the air and boys climbing up them 
and having their heads cut off and stuck on again, 
and men swallowing fire, and walking barefoot on 
naked swords, and drawing gold out of the earth, and 
many other things, until she shook herself irritably and 
said she did not believe a word of what I said. 

“You’d better go to church with Grandfather on 
Sunday and learn to speak the truth,” she said; then 
she repeated in a disagreeable way some lines by an 
English poet: 

“This is a tale of terror, 

Told when the twilight fails, 

And the monkeys walk together, 

Holding each other’s tails.” 




Chapter XVI 


The Light on the Water 


When Sunday came, I thought the children would 
sober down, and they did after they had their chicken 
fight. 

The mothers got all the young Sandyses ready for 
church, and then went to prepare themselves. 

The children came running from the different 
houses, and gathered out behind Grandfather’s wood¬ 
shed. Even little Benjie was there, and fought like a 
good fellow. 

Polly had assured me that I would see some fun, 
and had conducted me up in Grandmother’s pet pear 
tree, for the old lady loved pears better than any other 
fruit, and Grandfather had them growing all over the 
place. 

This one was particularly luxuriant, and Polly and 
I sat among the young green pears ripening so nicely, 
and looked down on the children gathering below. 

They made not a sound, contrary to their custom on 
weekdays, but the boys and girls, folding their arms, 
hopped up to each other and began to give some quite 
good blows with their elbows. 

“Why don’t they fight as on weekdays?” I asked 
Polly. 

“They’d spoil their clothes. They have to be care¬ 
ful as it is, not to rip their sleeves, in which case they 
would have to stay at home from church and miss the 
fun with dear old Grandfather. There he comes. Now 
the chicken fighting will stop.” 

Sure enough, each young Sandys, breathing heavily, 
143 




144 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


but quite composed in manners, ran to Grandfather 
and accompanied him to Grandmother’s garden. 

He was all dressed up in his Sunday clothes, and 
looked very black and important. He wore on his 
head what he called “his best beaver,” and it had quite 
a nap on it. 

“Why does he put on such big gloves?” I asked 
Polly; “the fingers are much too long for him.” 

“No one knows,” she said; “he always buys them 
a few sizes too large. Now watch him pick his posy. 
Is it to be peppermint or tansy ? It’s tansy this morn¬ 
ing. See how the children hang over him.” 

“What makes them do it ?” I asked. 

“They want to sit near him in church. He has an 
old-fashioned box pew, and ranges as many children 
in front of him as he can. They can’t see the preacher, 
but they watch Grandfather, and when his poor old 
eyes can’t notice that the tansy has dropped from his 
fingers, he goes on smelling the glove tips and thinks 
it is still there.” 

“But that doesn’t sound respectful,” I said, “and 
these children are always kind to the old people.” 

“They don’t laugh at him. They love him, and 
he keeps them awake; then when the sermon is half 
through, Grandmother stealthily feels in her long 
pocket and fishes out fat Spanish raisins and passes 
them down the line of children. I tell you, those 
raisins are worth going to church for. In the after¬ 
noon the children have their own service, and they 
enjoy that, for there is plenty of singing, but the old 
people take them in the morning as they want to bring 
the little things up in the way they should go. Poor 
old Grandfather, have you noticed that his eyes are 
almost shut? Dear me, I remember the times when 
those eyes were clear and wide open.” 




The Light on the Water 


145 


“Polly, how old are you?” I asked, for I never miss 
a chance to find out her age. 

“I feel a thousand when you ask so many ques¬ 
tions,” she said, and flew away, so there was no 
chance of my getting any more information out of her 
that time. 

I went and frolicked with Millie and her dog friend 
Shaker, who had grown quite contented and happy 
even in the short week we had been here. 

I remember that day well, for something happened 
the same night that cut short our visit and made us go 
home in a hurry. However, to go back to the dogs— 
as we were running round the garden paths, taking 
good care not to step on the flower beds, Mrs. Sandys 
came walking slowly from the house holding on her 
father’s arm. 

She was telling him how Nonnie was grieving about 
his grandson Nappy, and how terribly afraid she was 
that he would do some wild thing. 

The old man dropped on a stone bench, and said 
briefly, “Send her to me.” 

Mrs. Sandys went back to the house, and soon 
Nonnie appeared, twisting her apron in her fingers, 
and looking rather disturbed at the prospect of a talk 
with the determined old man. 

I sprang up into a young acacia tree and peeped 
down at them. If I shut my eyes now, I can see 
Grandfather sitting on that bench with Nonnie stand¬ 
ing before him hanging her head like a schoolgirl. 

“Girl!” he said sternly, “I want you to put a stop 
to this nonsense. My daughter says you are making 
the whole house unhappy.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Nonnie submissively. 

“We brought you up here in this house,” said 
Grandfather more kindly, “my wife and I. We had 

K 




146 


Jimmy G old-Coast 


many a trouble. Did you ever see us dull because 
things were not going our way ?” 

“No, sir,” she said. 

“Now cheer up,” he went on, “the Lord reigns, and 
He is taking His own way in dealing with our boy. 
He does not ask advice of us feeble creatures in run¬ 
ning this universe. Now have I your word that you 
will be cheerful and cease worrying my daughter?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Nonnie, and the interview was over, 
but when she went away, I, peeking down from the 
acacia tree, heard the old man mutter, “Good girl, 
Nonnie—seems just the other day we picked her up 
on that dusty Florida road.” 

His talk did Nonnie good, for that night when she 
went to bed she did not sing in a dreary voice such 
songs as “Dust an’ Ashes Fly Over My Grave” and 
“I Heard a Lumbering in de Sky,” but took to “Good 
News, de Chariot’s Cornin’ ” and “My Lord Delibered 
Daniel,” which were much pleasanter for me, as I was 
always her room-mate. 

That was a great night for Nonnie and me, and I 
little dreamed what was in store for us when I went 
as usual with her up the back stairs. 

After her little sing-song, she went to sleep and slept 
unusually well, for during the afternoon she had taken 
a long walk up to the meadows with me and had picked 
a bunch of delicate marsh flowers for Grandmother, 
who always had a bouquet on the window sill by her 
rocking-chair. 

I burrowed under the bed-clothes beside her, for the 
air from the river was cool at night, when suddenly 
something woke me up. We were right over the 
kitchen. The rest of the family slept in the large 
rooms in the front of the house which faced the river. 

I wondered what the thing was that had waked me, 




The Light on the Water 


147 


for Nonnie was not stirring, and there was not a sound 
in the house, that is, not a sound from any human 
being. Millie was out in the hall walking softly, and 
beside her was her friend Shaker. 

“Anything wrong?” I asked, sitting up in bed. 

“Not yet,” said Millie, “but something is going 
to be.” 

I said nothing but just listened. I knew very well 
that we animals have something—I do not know what 
to call it—that warns us when anything out of the 
common is going to happen. 

“Let’s go and see Polly,” I said, stealing out of bed, 
and feeling very pleased that Millie had at last come 
to feel that a monkey is the natural leader of (Jogs. 
I led them to the room where Mrs. Sandys slept in a 
great high four-poster with steps up to it, while her 
husband was out on a cot on the front veranda. Polly 
was on the mantelpiece just where she could look out 
at the bed of the man she idolized. 

“Hey! Poll,” I whispered, “what’s in the air? You 
are the eldest of us creatures and ought to know.” 

Polly, who was wide awake, shivered and whispered, 
“I don’t know, but I feel just as I do when the sailor 
ghost from Grandfather’s ship-yard walks.” 

“Rachel’s getting up,” said Millie suddenly. “Hist! 
animals, get under the bed.” 

We all hid, but watched the little girl get slowly out 
of her bed, and walk in a dazed way to the glass door 
that stood wide open to the veranda. 

Just at that instant old Nonnie came creeping in, 
fully dressed and looking scared but very quiet. She 
stared at the child as she stood by the door, but did 
not go to her. 

Presently Rachel began to speak in a low voice. 
“Oh! the light—the beautiful light.” 




148 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Nonnie slowly dropped to her knees, and joined her 
hands, but still said nothing. 

Rachel went on, “Auntie dear, do wake up. Oh! 
it is so wonderful,” and as she spoke, she went to her 
aunt’s side and gently put a hand on her cheek. 

Mrs. Sandys gave a happy sigh, turned in her bed, 
and whispered, “Oh! I am so sleepy—who is it? You, 
Rachel, dear? What is the matter?” 

She did not say, “Has anything frightened you?” 
for fear was a word rarely used before the children, 
unless it was fear of wrongdoing. They were taught 
never to be afraid of anything living, and old Nonnie 
used to say, “If dose Sandys young ones met a lion in 
de road, dey’d say, ‘Missa Lion, what you want?’ ” 

Well, just now Mrs. Sandys roused herself, and 
sitting up, took Rachel’s hand. “What are you 
staring at, dear?” she asked. “Is there someone on 
the veranda?” 

“No, no,” whispered Rachel in the same awed voice. 
“It is on the water. Such a beautiful thing, Auntie— 
a great pillar of light, not a pillar of salt like the one 
Lot’s wife was turned into, but a pillar of light. Don’t 
you see it ?” 

“Where, dear?” asked Mrs. Sandys, straining her 
eyes. 

Now the strange thing was that we animals could 
see plainly the tall, wavering, wonderful sort of electric 
pillar out on the water, and while Rachel was trying 
to make her aunt see it we enjoyed to the full the 
extraordinary thing. Never in cities, where electricity 
is so abundant, have I seen anything approaching it 
for softness and beauty. Polly saw it, too, and her 
lovely yellow eyes widened till they looked twice as 
big as usual. 

Nobody uttered a word, though, and I may say that 




The Light on the Water 


149 


during my short life up to this time, I had in travelling 
with my master seen some strange and rather dreadful 
things, but the most remarkable of them had been 
carried on very quietly, and I had made up my monkey 
mind that the biggest occurrences in the world take 
place without shouting. 

So on this night, which was to prove one of the most 
eventful ones in my dear master’s career, everything 
was as quiet as death. There stood the little girl in 
her long white night-dress pointing her slender hand 
out toward the river, and the good aunt trying to see 
what Rachel wanted her to see, while the Doctor slept 
on and knew nothing of what was happening. 

Presently Mrs. Sandys turned to Nonnie, who was 
still on her knees. “Nonnie,” she said, “do you see 
what Rachel sees?” 

Old Nonnie lifted her head and we all saw that tears 
were running down her cheeks. “Yes, Missa,” she 
said. “Nonnie sees it. It’s de light of de clan.” 

Mrs. Sandys frowned a little. “I have heard of 
this light,” she said patiently, “but I hoped it was a 
fable.” 

“It ain’t no fable, Missa,” said Nonnie solemnly. 
“It’s de death light, an’ it always shines to de nearest 
folk of de new head of de clan.” 

“What do you mean ?” asked Mrs. Sandys in a low 
voice, for she seemed anxious not to wake her husband. 

“Nonnie means dat de ole head he’s dead, an’ Mr. 
Nappy’s de head of his Highlan’ clan. Praise God— 
mebbe now he’s goin’ to be de light of his family.” 

Mrs. Sandys looked quite disturbed, and going out 
to the veranda she put a hand on her husband’s 
shoulder. 

Nothing ever surprised that man, for he was so used 
to being waked up in the night, so he roused himself, 




Jimmy Gold-Coast 


150 

and stifling a yawn, gave us all a piercing glance and 
said: “Quite a family gathering. Who is ill 

“Harlowen,” said Mrs. Sandys, “look right out 
there on the river above the dam. Do you see any¬ 
thing unusual?” 

“A few more ripples than ordinary. Sky overcast— 
has the appearance of being a good day for salmon 
to-morrow.” 

“Is the light still there?” asked Mrs. Sandys in a 
low voice, turning to her niece. 

“Still there,” repeated the little girl, “and more 
beautiful and wavy than ever.” 

The Doctor seemed to prick up his ears, reached out 
a hand and took paper and pencil from a table, then 
sending Nonnie out of the room questioned Rachel 
exactly. 

When she had told him just how the light appeared 
to her, he said in a quiet way that she had better go 
back to bed, and nodded to his wife to keep near her. 
Then he went out in the hall, and asked Nonnie the 
same questions he had asked Rachel. 

Nonnie was crying all the time, but very quietly, 
for fear of annoying the Doctor and Mrs. Sandys, 
who did not altogether like this pillar of light affair. 
When they sent her away to her room, Millie and I 
and Shaker came out from under the bed and looked 
up at the Doctor. 

He laughed under his breath. “Upon my word, 
Ales, if it weren’t so fanciful, I’d say that these ani¬ 
mals want to be examined, too. Jimmy Gold-Coast, 
what do you know of the light on the water?” 

Now I had never heard my master speak of this 
light, but I am a monkey that believes in ghosts and 
spirits, and I put one hand on my chest and staring up 
at this good friend of mine I waved the other hand 




The Light on the Water 151 

solemnly toward the river, grunted in my most ani¬ 
mated way, and nodded toward the big table lamp that 
his wife had lighted when she got out of bed. 

The Doctor seemed surprised. “Ales, that monkey 
is trying to tell me that he saw something out on the 
river that resembled a lamp.” 

“Seems like it,” said Mrs. Sandys in a puzzled way. 

Now the light on the water that had by this time 
faded out, had not been like a lamp, but a pillar, and 
I began to measure with my hands high up in the air. 

The Doctor shook his head and muttered: 

“ Til look no more, 

(Lest my brain turn.)’” 

“Get to bed, the whole caboodle of you,” and laugh¬ 
ingly he drove Millie and me and Shaker out of the 
room and went back to his cot. 

He was soon asleep, his wife was asleep, but the 
good old Nonnie never closed an eye. First of all she 
had a time of rejoicing. She had not dared let 
herself go before the white people, but when we got 
back to her room, she shut the door and the windows, 
and let out her voice a bit in one of her nice Down 
South songs: 

“He’s gwine to jine de great ’sociation, 

He’s gwine to jine de great ’sociation, 

Den his little soul’s gwine to shine.” 

Grandmother and Grandfather who slept under us 
were both deaf, so there was no danger of her dis¬ 
turbing them. After a while she pulled herself up. 
“I’se a-rejoicin’ over de death of a fellow mortal. De 
good Lord forgive,” and she sank on her knees by the 
bed, and began to pray so softly that I fell asleep. 




Chapter XVII 


A Day of Uncertainty 

When I woke up, Nonnie was sitting in her big chair 
by the window rocking back and forth as hard as she 
could, and chuckling, “Wake up weenie tontie Jimmy. 
Dis is a blessed mornin\ Nonnie feels like she’d been 
at a party. She ain’t got no need of dressin’. ’Cause 
she ain’t undressed. Come on downstairs. I smells 
de spicy coffee.” 

I hopped out of bed, gave myself a lick and a prom¬ 
ise of a toilet, and followed her down the back stairs. 

Mrs. Sandys, looking very thoughtful, was prepar¬ 
ing the breakfast. She had a woman who came later 
in the day to help her with the children’s washing, but 
nearly all the people in the neighborhood did their own 
work. She did not say a word about the pillar of 
light, and Nonnie was too discreet to refer to it. 

When Rachel came downstairs, Nonnie stared at 
her, but the child after one knowing look at her, acted 
just as usual, and with the rest of the family trooped 
into the second-best parlor where Grandfather sat 
with a big book of prayers in his hand. No one could 
touch a bite in the house until he had his little religious 
service. 

When they went to the table, Rachel started her 
breakfast with a bowl of the delicious cornmeal that 
her ancestors used to eat in New England. The child 
first covered it with a sweet brown sugar, then 
drowned it in thick yellow cream. All the children 
here ate plenty of this meal which was made into 
many kinds of puddings and cakes. 

153 




A Day of Uncertainty 


153 


She wound up with a plate full of speckled trout 
and hot potatoes, and a glass of milk, so I saw that the 
occurrences of the night had not affected her appetite. 

When she finished her breakfast she asked her aunt 
what she should do. 

“Please wash the breakfast dishes,” said Mrs. 
Sandys, and Rachel got a tray and piled the cups and 
saucers and plates neatly and took them to the back 
kitchen which looked on the porch. 

While she was washing them, Nonnie and I sat on 
a bench by the door, which was the chosen spot for 
callers when any of the family happened to be working 
in the kitchen. 

Polly came flying along, screeching “Good morn¬ 
ing,” and we both cuddled up against Nonnie, who was 
always warm and comfy no matter how cool the day. 
We never had hot weather by this river. It was 
pleasant and warm for human beings, but I often 
had to get my little jacket and wear it mornings and 
evenings. 

As Rachel was working, her uncle came along. He 
had been in the garden, and had one of Grandmother’s 
white roses in the corner of his mouth. 

“How much better than a pipe,” gurgled Polly. 
“That man never does anything bad.” 

However, just now he did something I did not 
approve of, for taking the rose from between his lips 
he gave Rachel a peculiar glance, and remarked, 
“There’s no need to say anything about what you 
thought you saw last night, Girlie.” 

I was indignant. There had been a light, and we 
had all seen it but this good Doctor and his wife. 

Then I listened eagerly to hear what Rachel would 
say, and so did Nonnie. To our relief, she did what 
a child often does when a situation becomes embar- 




154 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


rassing. She burst out laughing, and taking her 
hands out of the dishwater, dried them on the roller 
towel. 

“And Uncle Harlowen, there’s no need for you to 
say anything about what you didn’t see last night.” 

He laughed, he could not help it, and Polly and 
I could feel Nonnie’s big body shaking like a bowl of 
jelly. 

“Come on out to the garden with me, Girlie,” said 
the Doctor. “I’m going to dig the potatoes for 
dinner.” 

I went along, too, for I loved to ramble up and down 
the gravel paths, and watch the growing plants and 
pull up tender carrots to eat. It was a fine old garden 
and had everything in it in the way of vegetables 
that would grow in this climate. The Doctor dug the 
potatoes from their nice sandy hills, and pulled some 
young beets for greens and then we went back to the 
kitchen. Rachel washed the potatoes and put them 
in a pan where young Aunt Mercy would find them all 
ready for one of the iron pots that swung over the 
blaze in the fire-place, for though every other house in 
the village had a cooking-stove, Grandfather would not 
allow one in his house. 

Soon a troop of young Sandyses and their friends 
came running from the east and the west to seek 
Rachel out for games. They were going to play shop, 
which meant that they set out all manner of things on 
long tables in the wood-sheds, and traded with each 
other for them. 

“No shops for me this morning,” she said. “I 
promised to play with Benjie and the tiny tots.” 

The older children were disappointed, for she was 
their game leader; however, they knew better than to 
coax her, and soon swept away. 




A Day of Uncertainty 


155 


When Benjie appeared with a following of diminu¬ 
tive Sandyses, she led them to the mud-pie place up by 
the horse troughs at the barn. For about an hour 
she made very neat-looking pies with plenty of fresh 
sawdust for icing, which were presented to Grand¬ 
mother’s ducks on the little pond back of the barn. 
Then the children clamored for real pies, and she told 
them to collect blacking boxes. 

All the men in Rossignol wore high boots on week 
days, though they dressed up on Sundays and holidays. 
These boots were of leather and the men wore them 
because they were so much in the woods and the water. 
Some of the men greased them, and some brushed 
them. They used a great quantity of blacking, which 
came in shiny boxes having a picture of a young grin¬ 
ning negro on the cover staring at himself in a highly 
polished boot-leg that shone like a mirror. 

To shine these boots, the men would put a little 
water in the boxes, or if none were near, would spit 
neatly in the middle just to start things going. When 
the boxes were empty, the children collected them, 
washed and scoured them, and kept them for baking 
day, which was Wednesday. The women made pies, 
and cake, and bread, which in some houses, as in 
Grandmother’s, were put on long-handled shovels and 
run into a deep oven by the fire-place in the front 
kitchen. The children always begged some dough 
and whatever fruit was going, or else they used dried 
currants, and they did make some very tasty pies 
which their mothers baked in the long ovens along 
with the big pies. 

After these blacking-box pies were done, some chil¬ 
dren ate them, but they were mostly given to us 
animals, and mighty nice they were. 

Old Nonnie came along when Rachel was making 




Jimmy Gold-Coast 


156 

her pies, and bending over a rough table that Grand¬ 
father had had put up for the children, Nonnie re-tied 
her hair ribbon, and smoothed it, then she went to 
the house, and singing softly to herself, tidied Rachel’s 
chest of drawers, and taking out of her closet some 
clothes that did not really need washing she went to 
the back porch and put them in soak. 

I was amused with the soap she used. It was what 
the women called “soft soap,” and they made it them¬ 
selves. It was brown and looked like glue, but it 
was very powerful. Mrs. Sandys did not do these 
old-fashioned things, but Grandmother did. She even 
made her candles in long moulds, for Grandfather 
was so old-fashioned that he would use nothing but 
candles himself, though he let Aunt Mercy have a few 
lamps for guests. 

The old man looked very strangely at Rachel quite 
often that day, though no one could tell by the expres¬ 
sion of his face what he was thinking about. 

“He knows de whole thing,” I heard Nonnie mutter. 
“Nothin’ don’t happen here widout someone runnin’ 
to tell de wise ole man.” 

However, she did not dare to speak to him about 
the pillar of light, and he went round as usual with 
his eyes half shut. His face was as brown as leather, 
for he scarcely went into the house except to sleep. 
When his children remonstrated with him, he said, 
“I’ve lived outdoors, and I’ll die outdoors,” and all 
day long he tramped up and down the street, stopping 
everyone he met to talk to them, and transacting quite 
a bit of business meanwhile. 

He was a great drinker in a good way. When a 
young man, he had brought from the West Indies very 
strong liquors and wines, and the queerly shaped 
empty decanters still stood on the old Spanish 




A Day of Uncertainty 


15 7 


mahogany sideboard, but now he drank ginger and 
pepper tea, and tamarind water and lime juice, and 
Grandmother, who allowed no other person to mix his 
drinks, always kept pretty little foreign-looking bowls 
of his favorite beverages in a row on the pantry shelf. 
If he didn’t fancy one, he could take another. 

He said one reason he was so well was that he drank 
so much and ate so little. He used to occupy himself 
at the table in watching his grandchildren eating, and 
what amused me very much, though Polly had told me 
about it in Downton, was that none of the tiny children 
were allowed to sit down at meal time. 

They stood round the table, their little heads just 
appearing above it, and if they did not eat nicely, 
Grandfather would say, “Out, sir,” or “Out, miss,” 
and they would have to trot to the kitchen and stand 
round a funny little table that had about twenty legs. 

How the children loved him in spite of his stern 
ways. He always had peppermint drops or what he 
called “sugar barleys” in his coat pockets, and every 
child that he met on the street got one of these 
candies. Sometimes he gave them pennies, or what 
he called “sixpences,” which were ten-cent pieces. 
He never said dollars and cents, for he remembered 
the days when they had pounds, shillings and pence 
in Nova Scotia. 

Night-times he was very tired, and lay on a big sofa 
in the kitchen with any visiting dogs behind him. 
There was always a roaring fire in the big open fire¬ 
place, unless the night was very warm, and I can tell 
you that behind Grandfather’s back was a fine retreat, 
and Polly and I always got there first. 

This kitchen was not the one where the work was 
done. That was the outside or back kitchen. This 
one was like a sitting-room, though all the cooking 




158 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


was done in it. Sometimes at night there would be 
a little cake in the small bake-oven that sat before 
the fire, or the children would be roasting apples or 
popping corn. I had never before seen a sitting-room 
where cooking could be done, and I thought it was 
delightful, for the preparation of food is certainly a 
most interesting thing to men as well as animals. 
You get the smell of it as well as the taste, though 
Polly says that there are some silly people who object 
to a suggestion of food before it is put before them. 

‘‘Then they never know the delights of mouth¬ 
watering,” said Millie, who was listening to her when 
she told me this. 

All that morning I kept near Rachel or Nonnie. 
Rachel was thoughtful, but did not say much. Nonnie 
being black gave rein to her feelings, and several times 
went up in the orchard and rejoiced about our master. 

It was a wonderful thing for him to be The 
MacHadra, for now everybody would look up to him, 
and he would certainly give up his roving life and 
settle down with his sister. 

“And ’way off in Scotian’, dey don’t know dat boy’s 
been so frisky,” she said over and over again, and I 
thought, “Poor old Nonnie—what about Scotland Yard 
in London where they have even his fingerprints?” 

You see, Nonnie and I really believed his uncle had 
died, but Rachel and the other white people did not 
know what to think. 

Well, the morning passed as usual and nothing hap¬ 
pened, though Nonnie kept one eye on the road by the 
river up which the telegraph boy always came when 
he had anything for Grandfather. 

After dinner, during which Grandfather gave every¬ 
thing on his plate to Benjie, he said he was going for 
fish. 




A Day of Uncertainty 159 

Polly began to chuckle, and I asked her what made 
her merry. 

“I’m not merry,” she said in her contrary way. 
“Pm sorry for poor old Grandfather. When the 
children get on his nerves, he goes away by himself 
down the Bay, and comes home with the buggy full 
of the most delicious fish you ever ate.” 

“Better than the lovely pink salmon in this river?” 
I asked. 

“Not better, but different. He gets deep-sea fish. 
It’s nice for a change. Gome watch the dear old man 
set out. It’s as good as a play.” 

I followed her to the front of the house where the 
whole family was gathered looking rather scared. 
One of the uncles had harnessed the old half-blind 
horse Bide-A-Wee to Grandfather’s buggy, and with 
a low “Do be careful, father,” he put the reins in 
Grandfather’s hand after he had mounted the seat. 

Away drove the old man, looking neither to the 
right nor the left, and keeping exactly in the middle 
of the road. 

“He’ll go that way all the five miles to Beach 
Meadows,” said Polly in my ear. “The automobiles 
come along and honk, and Grandfather pays no atten¬ 
tion, and sometimes doesn’t see them. Fortunately 
all the people in the county know him, but the family 
is dreadfully afraid that some day some stranger will 
kill him.” 

Hearing someone murmuring something I turned 
round and there was Dr. Sandys with an admiring 
smile on his face and saying: 

“Four-square to opposition.” 

Then seeing I was watching him, he said, “I suppose 
you, with all your acquirements, psychic and otherwise, 
know just what that means?” 




i6o 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


I clung to him, I jabbered, for I loved this man with 
the deep-set eyes, and he could not understand a word 
of what I meant, but old Nonnie coming along, trans¬ 
lated for me. 

“Docta,” she said, “don’t you see dat little fellow’s 
tryin’ to tell you dat he’s got everythin’ but de speech. 
He has de feelin’s, but he can’t ’spress dem. Can’t 
you do somethin’ to loosen his tongue?” 

The Doctor was going to say something, but at this 
moment a boy came spinning along on his wheel. He 
had a telegram in his hand, and boy-like, for the first 
time he had come up the other side of the river, and 
so had missed Grandfather. 

Dr. Sandys took the telegram, and laid it on Grand¬ 
father’s desk. It would have to wait till he came home. 
No one would dare to open it in his absence, not even 
Grandmother. 

When the old man drove into the yard after supper 
time with his load of fish, the telegram was handed to 
him, but to the disappointment of all the family peep¬ 
ing out of the windows, he got out his glasses, read it, 
and without a word put it in his pocket. 

Surely it was not the telegram we expected, for if 
it had been, he would have only been too glad to tell 
us about it. 

After supper it rained, and everybody gathered in 
the big kitchen, hoping from time to time that Grand¬ 
father would say something, but he never opened his 
mouth. 

“Can you hear him groaning?” said Polly to me as 
we sat behind his back on the sofa. 

“Yes,” I said. “He’s in trouble. I wonder what it is ?” 

“I wish I could read,” said Polly. “I had a chance 
to see those words on the yellow paper, for I flew to 
his shoulder as soon as he came home.” 




A Day of Uncertainty 


161 


“Were they about my master ?” I whispered. 

“I think so,” said Polly, “for he muttered some¬ 
thing about ‘that boy.’ ” 

“But it isn’t the good news about being head of the 
clan?” I whispered. 

“It can’t be,” said Polly. “Grandfather is a good 
man, but he wouldn’t groan over the death of an uncle 
who has been unkind and neglectful to a nephew. 
We’ve got to wait a while to find out about it. The 
old man has reasons for his silence.” 

We did have to wait till the middle of the night to 
discover what was in that telegram, and in another 
that came later on. 

About one o’clock there was such a thunderstorm 
that Nonnie could not sleep. I woke up when one roar 
shook the old house, and saw that she was out of bed 
and sitting in a chair looking at the lightning playing 
on the river and making the houses opposite lighter 
than day. 

Presently she threw up the window, and thrust her 
old black head out into a downpour of rain. She 
made me nervous, and I got up and went to pull at her 
bed-gown. 

“Dere’s someone gallopin’ up de road,” she said. 
“I can hear de horse’s foots on de bridge. It’s a man, 
an’ he’s handin’ somethin’ through Grandfadder’s 
bed-room window—my soul an’ body, it’s another 
telegram! Nonnie’s goin’ down. Where’s my bath 
robe, an’ run under de bed, monkey, an’ get my 
slippers.” 


L 




Chapter XVIII 


Head of his Clan 


I followed her as she went heavily downstairs, 
through the big kitchen and to the dining-room off 
which Grandmother and Grandfather, in spite of all 
the good-sized rooms upstairs, slept in one tiny one. 

Trembling all over at the bold thing she was about 
to do, Nonnie knocked at the door, and said in a 
quavering voice, “It’s Nonnie, is there anythin’ she 
can do for you all?” 

She had to knock two or three times to make the 
old people hear, but at last Grandfather threw open 
the door. 

His face was working strangely, and without a word 
he handed her the paper in his hand. 

She motioned it away. “Nonnie ain’t got her 
glasses, sir.” 

“The MacHadra is dead,” said Grandfather. “He 
and his son were out yachting and were lost in a storm. 
A firm of Inverness solicitors wishes me to communi¬ 
cate with my grandson, your master. He is the head 
of his clan now, and a rich man.” 

Old Nonnie threw up her hands with a suppressed 
“Praise God!” Then something told her all was not 
well, and she looked beyond Grandfather at some¬ 
thing. 

Peeping from behind her bath-robe, I saw that poor 
old Grandmother was sitting up in bed, her face a 
picture of woe, and paler than the white night-cap tied 
under her chin. 

“Show her the other telegram, Malachi,” said 




Head of his Clan 163 

Grandmother. “She loves the boy. She ought to 
know.” 

Grandfather, who seemed dazed, handed her another 
piece of paper, and when she once more waved it from 
her, he read in a low, shaking voice. “Halifax, young 
man arrested to-day. Suspect he is your grandson. 
See yesterday's papers for details of bank robbery. 
Friends will do all to help you. Emery Thorndike .” 

Nonnie sank into a chair like a stone, and stared 
at the newspapers spread over the dining-room table. 
Grandfather had been there alone in the night reading 
of the misdeeds of his grandson. 

I trembled like a leaf. I remembered hearing some 
of the uncles talking that afternoon about the clever 
trick of a young stranger in the little city of Halifax, 
who entered a bank while everybody was looking at a 
passing circus procession, and almost got away with 
a bag of gold. Nonnie had heard them, too, and now 
she knew that the news was true. 

“It is Napier,” said Grandfather, and his old voice 
shook. “I have been sending messages to the city 
this evening. Get up and go to bed. It is the will of 
God. Good night,” and he went into his room and 
shut the door. 

Nonnie never moved. She sat with her head on her 
hands and the wind began to blow the rain in through 
an open window, and her feet got wet, but still she did 
not stir. I shivered with the cold and, clinging to her, 
I whimpered and pulled at her robe. Then she roused 
herself and, turning to me a queer chalky-black sort 
of face, she gathered me to her. “My baby’s baby 
shall not get sick. Nonnie will take care of him. Oh, 
Lord, have mercy on me,” and she wearily climbed the 
staircase to our room. 

There had not been a sound from Grandfather’s 




164 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


room all this time, and I admired the two old people 
who took their sorrow so quietly. As for me, I was 
nearly frozen, and if Nonnie hadn’t cuddled me all 
night, and kept me warm, I think I should have died. 

My grief when my master went away from Down- 
ton was nothing to this. I understood just how he had 
committed the robbery. He had had to do something 
to get money and now he would be put in prison. He 
knew what that would be, and I knew, too, for had 
I not often heard him and his friends talking in low 
voices about those of their number who had been 
caught by the long outstretched arm of the law that 
they affected to despise, and that yet somehow or other 
always caught up to them. 

Oh! that soft body. He hated scratchy clothes. 
Fine linen and silk were all he could stand next his 
skin. They would put dreadful garments on him. 
Oh! how he would suffer, and I rocked myself in 
misery. 

Nonnie held me tightly to her, and comforted me, 
and when morning came, and I did not want to get up, 
she said, “Jimmy Gold-Coast, ain’t you heard dat 
ole man up an’ wid his gutterin’ candle a-walkin’ de 
house? If he can keep a-moverin’ along, a young 
monkey can. Get up out of dat bed an’ clean your 
face wid Nonnie’s wash-rag,” and she dipped it in 
water and handed it to me. 

I had heard Grandfather moving about, and also had 
heard a voice begging him to be careful of the candle, 
for everyone was afraid that with his habit of prowling 
he would set fire to the house. 

“If only he will not burn it up when we have com¬ 
pany,” giggling Aunt Mercy used to say. She lived 
with her parents and kept house for them very nicely, 
but she tried to rule them a little bit, and often had 




Head of his Clan 165 

small conflicts with them, in which the old people, I 
am happy to say, usually came out on top. 

I felt better after I had washed my face, and ran 
downstairs. Grandmother’s voice was floating out of 
her room. “No, Malachi, I shall not stay in bed. 
If you can get up, I can.” 

“You stay in bed, Melinda, and you eat two eggs,” 
I heard Grandfather say, and Grandmother did stay in 
bed, and ate her eggs like a lady. I knew, for I went 
in and sat on the foot of this same bed with its patch- 
work quilt, and made cheerful faces just to encourage 
so good a grandmother, and she saved me some nice 
little tit-bits, and even let me steal a couple of sweet 
apples from her wardrobe when Grandfather was not 
looking. 

Nonnie was in great distress about Rachel. She 
did not want the child to hear a word of the sad news 
about her brother, but she did want her to know that 
the pillar of light had prophesied truly, so after break¬ 
fast she took a basket to Rachel, and handed her a 
pair of scissors. 

“Missie, dear,” she said, “will you get Nonnie some 
roses for Grandmudder’s room?” 

Rachel ran away to the garden, and Nonnie followed 
her. 

“Lammie,” she said, catching up to her by the sun¬ 
dial, and putting her arm round her, “Your brudder’s 
head of his clan fast enough. Grandfadder heard de 
word las’ night.” 

Rachel was about to squeal with delight, but Nonnie 
put a finger on her lips. “Not a word, chile. I dunno 
as I ought to have tole you. Don’t let on.” 

Rachel went away dancing, and Nonnie picked the 
roses herself, and went back to the house. 

Everything went on as usual that morning, and 




Jimmy Gold-Coast 


166 

I saw that Grandfather had told the dreadful news to 
no one but Nonnie. At noon I heard him ask one of 
the grandchildren to go up to Uncle Lemuel's and ask 
him and his wife to come down that afternoon. 

It wasn't for afternoon tea. Grandfather would not 
have such a thing in his house. He said that three 
good meals a day were enough for anyone. 

I sought out Polly, and thought it no harm to tell 
her what had happened in the night. “Polly, dear," 
I said, “I feel as if I could never hold up my head 
again." 

She did her best to comfort me, and even made me 
smile. “You’d better hold up your head," she said, 
“if you don’t want some more sulphur and molasses. 
You’ve had one dose already, haven’t you?” 

“Yes,” I said. “Mrs. Sandys saw me looking 
mopish, and she got the bottle of the children’s spring 
medicine and made me take a spoonful. I don’t 
like it." 

“The children do," said Polly. “They stand in a 

row and swallow it down like ice-cream- Now, 

Jimmy, you’ve got to stop worrying about your master. 
You are all pulled down just from one night of it. 
Brace up, this dose of prison medicine may be the 
sulphur and molasses he needs to purify his bad blood." 

“But the disgrace," I said, “the horrible disgrace. 
He can never face his friends again.” 

“Which friends?" asked Polly sharply. 

“His old friends." 

“Do you mean the ones that got him into this 
trouble?” 

“Yes, I suppose so," I said hesitatingly. 

“Were they friends or enemies?” 

“Enemies," I said. “I see what you are driving 
at, Polly Shillaber." 





Head of his Clan 


167 


“His old friends are here and in the Valley,” said 
Polly. “They are the ones who idolized his mother— 
the sweet Miss Jenny—who ran like a dear little fox to 
any house where there was trouble. You see if they 

won’t stand by her son-. My goodness! what is 

the matter with that funny Rachel?” 

“She’s having running turns this morning,” I said, 
trying to smile. “There’s one person who is happy.” 

The child was tearing round the house and wood¬ 
shed and the barn in long, sweeping circles, with Millie 
and all her cousins’ dogs after her, and even poor little 
Shaker tagging on behind. 

“Have a run, too,” said Polly, “it will do you good. 
Come on, and I will fly after you.” 

I did as she advised, and felt so much better that 
I took quite a hearty dinner. 

After dinner Nonnie went to lie down, and I at¬ 
tached myself to Rachel, who was so worn out with 
her exertions of the morning that she stole one of her 
boy cousins’ books about cannibal islanders, went to 
the closet and filled her pocket with lumps of sugar and 
handfuls of raisins, and sneaked through Grand¬ 
mother’s garden to the back window of the very best 
parlor and crept inside. 

I trembled as I stole after her. She had done three 
wrong things, for her cousin Sam would likely shake 
her for taking a story that he was devouring, and she 
had no business to go to the closet without permission, 
and the children were strictly forbidden to enter the 
best parlor unless accompanied by a grown person. 

She didn’t care—that is, not yet. She threw a kiss 
to her mother’s picture on the wall, took one of Grand¬ 
mother’s handsome Japanese cushions and tossed it 
on the floor, curled herself up on it behind a screen 
that stood near a teakwood table, then she tucked in 





Jimmy Gold-Coast 


168 


my tail and legs as I crouched beside her so that no 
one would see us if the door was opened. 

In return for this, I brushed the flies off her, and 
for a while she read comfortably, but finally the book 
slipped from her hands and she fell asleep. 

I joined her for a while in a nice little nap, but 
woke up and peeked through a crack in the screen, 
when the door opened and Grandfather came in lead¬ 
ing quite a procession of sons and daughters with their 
wives and husbands. 

The old man, chewing hard and leaning heavily on 
his cane, doddered straight toward us, and I trembled, 
but instead of looking behind the screen, he seated 
himself on a chair in front of it. 

All the women sat down, but the men had to stand, 
for Grandfather had such a big family that there were 
not enough chairs to go round. 

“Children,” said the old man suddenly, “I have 
summoned you here from your various housen”—he 
always said “housen,” and I thought it had a lovely 
old-fashioned sound—“to talk about my grandson 
Napier. His uncle and cousin have died, and he is 
head of his clan and possessed of a good fortune.” 

Such a joyful rustle and murmur began to run 
round the room. These good relatives were delighted 
that at last a good thing had happened to their nephew, 
but they did not become too enthusiastic, for I knew 
from Polly that they were always consumed with 
anxiety about him. 

Grandfather, straining his weak old eyes to note the 
effect of his words on them, went on, “And now he is 
in the city prison in Halifax, charged with, and guilty 
of, breaking into a bank.” 

No one said a word. The silence was painful, and 
Grandfather, with a shaking hand, pulled a lovely 




Head of his Clan 


169 


old silver potpourri jar toward him, and lifting the 
cover, smelled hard of the fragrance of dead and gone 
rose leaves. 

“You all remember Jenny,” he said at last, “little 
Jenny who never disobeyed me in her life except when 
she married the father of this young man.” 

My heart ached, and I almost sprang from my 
hiding-place. Oh! why did he call my Nappy a young 
man? Was he going to give him up? 

Not he—I did not know Grandfather. “Children,” 
he went on simply, “I lay the matter before you. I 
used to be captain of the ship, but this affair has 
made me feel that I am getting to be an old man,” and 
he put his grizzled head on his hands, and almost broke 
down. 

Nobody said a word for a minute, then eldest son 
David, who had been standing with folded arms, 
stepped forward, “Father, you have done well to call 
the family together. Can we not have an expression 
of opinion from each one? But first tell us what you 
think yourself. You have thought the matter over 
through the night and we have just heard it.” 

Grandfather straightened himself in his chair. “I 
think,” he said, “that someone must go to Halifax 
and live near the boy during at least the first year of 
his imprisonment, for, of course, he will be sent to the 
penitentiary.” 

Second son Jacob asked, “Who is looking after him 
now beside your lawyer?” 

“My old friends,” said Grandfather, “Judge Thorn¬ 
dike, Dr. Dunscombe and Shafto Heyman. No one 
else knows whom he is. He gave an assumed name, 
and a false address. The judge recognized him from 
his likeness to his father.” 

“What about these falsehoods?” asked Uncle 




170 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Gylls, who was the wag of the family, though now he 
looked sober enough. “Are you willing for that to 
go on?” 

“No,” roared Grandfather so loudly that he woke 
Rachel up. “He has got to tell the truth from now 
out. No more lies and subterfuges. They are all 
smoke from the pit.” 

“Father,” said Aunt Matilda timidly, “I can go 
to Halifax for a year after I get my boys ready for 
college.” 

“Who will take care of your mother-in-law?” 
asked Grandfather. “No, your duty is to the old 
lady.” 

“If you can wait a while,” said Uncle Lemuel, “till 
I get the books in order at the pulp mill, I will go.” 

“And you on the brink of failure,” said Grandfather. 
“No, stay at home and look after your business.” 

At this they all became very solemn, and I remem¬ 
bered what Nonnie, who was a great person to talk 
to herself, had been grumbling about in her bedroom 
two or three nights before. 

It seemed that some speculators had induced 
Grandfather and his sons to start a bank, that had 
failed, and they were having all they could do to keep 
their heads above water. 

“Father,” said son Jacob, “I, as you know, planned 
to sail for Demerara in a fortnight. I can get some¬ 
one to take my place. There are other sea captains 
beside myself.” 

“What about your crew?” thundered Grand¬ 
father. “They signed up wtih you. Keep to your 
agreements, boy.” 

Uncle Jacob, whose head was as white as snow, 
smiled sheepishly, and in a gratified way. He would 
always be a little boy to his father. 




Head of His Clan 


171 

By this time I was getting anxious about Rachel. 
She had been sleeping like one drugged, and it took 
her a long time to wake up. However, now she had 
“full possession of her faculties,” as Grandfather used 
to say, and stretching herself, as she was about to rise, 
when she became aware of the voices, and rather 
meanly pushed me away from the crack in the screen 
and looked through. 

Then she shook like an aspen leaf. Suppose she 
were caught. 

“I am going to sell this house,” Grandfather was 
saying in a stout-hearted voice. “Grandmother and 
I will go to the city to be near the boy. There is the 
cottage of Uncle Ben Knollys’ up Moose Hill. We 
can live in that when we come back.” 

At this, there were quite loud exclamations of 
distress from the family, but they were all put a stop 
to when a calm voice said from one of the open win¬ 
dows, “I will go. Send me, sir.” 

Everybody turned in astonishment to the brave old 
black face framed in the white window curtains. 
Nonnie hadn’t been invited to the family council, so 
she just listened at the window like a faithful old 
dog, and barked when the time came. 

“Nonnie!” said the women all together quite as if 
they had been practising. The men said nothing, but 
they were all struck with the reasonableness of her 
proposal, and every one nodded approval. 

Who had cared for the boy in his first baby days? 
To whom had he gone with his childish troubles when 
every one else was against him ? Who always 
forgave him and never scolded him? Who admired 
him for running away to his father, instead of blaming 
him? Who had most influence with him?—No one 
but the old black woman. And whom did he love the 




172 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


most? His Aunt Ales, who had been so devoted to 
him, and a mother to his sister?—No, it was Nonnie 
once, and Nonnie twice, and Nonnie all the time, and 
each one knew it, and the old black woman stood 
triumphant. She would be sent. 

“And I’ll go, too,” squealed a sudden voice, and 
Rachel ran out from behind the screen, and like the 
little witch that she was, threw her arms about her 
Grandfather’s neck. “I don’t know where Nonnie’s 
going, but I suppose it’s somewhere with brother, 
and I must go, too. Oh! is he going to take us to 
foreign lands? Am I to see Paris, and London, and 
Italy, and the site of ruined Troy, where dear, pious 
Aeneas lived and suffered? Oh! how joyful—and 
you must all come and see us. You will, won’t you, 
for of course we will settle down in Castle MacHadra 
when our travelling is over, and shan’t we have a nice 
time? Half the time you’ll visit me, and half the 
time I’ll visit you, for a Nova Scotian I was born and 
a Nova Scotian I will die, and I’m going to put up a 
great, big monument of some kind to dear father 
and mother over in Scotland, for the people there 
don’t know how precious they were.” 

Grandfather sat back in his chair, and stared at us 
two eavesdroppers, and for once he did not know 
what to say. 




Chapter XIX 


The Talk in the Best Parlor 


Rachel withdrew her arms from her grandfather’s 
neck and faced her audience. “What’s the matter 
with you all?” she asked. “You look so sad, and 
Aunt Annie is crying. Why is it? Have I said 
something wrong? Oh, I’m so sorry I came in the 
best parlor without leave, but I was tired and I wanted 
to get away from the other children and think over 
the good news about Nappy.” 

“How much do you know about your brother?” 
asked Grandfather in a harsh voice, and his poor, 
bleared eyes sent a reproachful glance in the direction 
of the window. 

“I know that he is lord of the MacHadra Castle,” 
said the child proudly, and she threw up her brown 
head, so strangely like her brother’s, for during the 
last few weeks her dear nose had really seemed to stop 
growing and get in line with the rest of her face. 

“And I know that now he is going to settle down 
and stop travelling, and he will do a lot of good, 
remember that”; and as she faced them her voice 
shook, for with all their care, her relatives had not 
been able to keep from her various slighting remarks 
about her brother. 

“Grandfather,” she screamed suddenly, “there is 
some dreadful trouble in this room. I feel it. Tell 
me, is Nappy dead?” 

The old man held her at arm’s length and tried to 
stand up, but he fell back. He was very shaky on his 
feet after all this excitement. 

173 




174 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


She seized his hands in a fierce grasp, and with her 
lovely eyes big with horror, just whispered, “Is he 
dead?” 

“No, no, child,” said Grandfather irritably, though 
his voice was as soft as a woman’s. “He is not dead. 
He is well, but unhappy.” 

Her face glowed. “Unhappy—when he is head 
of his clan? Oh, Grandfather, do you mean it?” 

“Very unhappy,” said Grandfather; “and now, 
child, in the presence of your near relatives, who love 
you and will always stand by you whatever happens, 
I must tell you that your brother, who, remember, is 
still one of the family, is in disgrace—deep, terrible 
disgrace.” 

Rachel seemed to grow smaller and shrink to a 
child half her size. “Grandfather, have they found 
him out?” she asked in a terror-stricken voice. 

Grandfather nodded. “He is in prison, my child.” 

Rachel’s hand flew to her little breast, and she 
clutched at her clothes as if she could not breathe. 
“Will they hang* him?” she muttered; “will they 
hang my Nappy?” 

“Thunder and lightning!” cried Grandfather in his 
astonishment. “What does the child mean? Hang 
my grandson—what are you thinking about? She’s 
crazy,” and he peered down into her eyes as if he 
feared that the shock had really affected her 
mind. 

“Didn’t he murder anyone?” cried Rachel. 

“Murder! Good London! girl, what are you 
talking about? Your brother is a thief, an expert 
thief, and we are all mortally ashamed of him; but 
he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Think how he has toted 
round the world that dumb brute there,” and he pointed 
to me. 




The Talk in the Best Parlor 


175 


I grunted amiably and waved a hand at the old man, 
for I was flattered at being drawn into this family 
discussion, and though I had been called a brute, it had 
been done in a kind way. 

No one looked at me, for Rachel had sprung from 
her grandfather and was flying round the room, nearly 
choking her aunts and uncles in fond embraces. 

“Oh! you naughty old dears! Why didn’t you 
tell me this before? I have suffered agonies. You 
have all looked such strange things at me. You have 
had such silences when Nappy’s name was mentioned. 
I thought at least he had killed someone. Oh, I am 
so glad that he is only a thief! I suppose they have to 
put him in prison for a while; but think of the penitent 
burglar in New York who was converted and saved 
hundreds of souls! Think of the cannibals who ate 
the good missionaries and then wept with shame and 
spent the rest of their lives in doing good!” 

I am only a monkey, but I saw that there was a 
strange situation in the room, and the grown people 
did not quite know how to take Rachel’s change 
of front. Her Aunt Ales drew her down beside 
her—and just here I may say that all through this 
discussion I had been profoundly surprised that Dr. 
and Mrs. Sandys had not said a word. They, who had 
done more than anyone for the dear dead sister and 
her husband and children, had not made one offer. 
They were all right inside, for I had noted their glowing 
faces and the nice way they exchanged glances without 
speaking. 

Now Mrs. Sandys whispered to Rachel, then nodded 
to Nonnie, and the little girl who had rather leave a 
room by a window than through a door, took one 
flying leap, went out to the garden and walked away 
with her faithful nurse. 




176 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


I stayed with Grandfather and his family, for I 
knew there was more to come, and going over to 
Mrs. Sandys, I crawled on her lap. Caressing me 
with one hand as if I had been a little Benjie the 
second, she handed me to her husband and got up. 

“Father,” she said, “I have something very 
important to say to you and the others, and I waited 
to give my brothers and sisters the opportunity to 
make the generous offers I was sure they would make. 
I knew Jenny was listening to us,” and she pointed to 
the painting on the wall, where the young woman 
in the poke bonnet smiled down sweetly at them; “and 
now let me read you a letter she put in my hands 
the day she died.” 

A kind of trembling rustle went through the room, 
and then there was profound silence. An impudent 
bee came buzzing in from the garden, but got such a 
box on the ears when he came near me, as I sat proudly 
on Dr. Sandys’ knee, that he went out faster than he 
came in. 

“I will read first what is on the envelope,” said 
Mrs. Sandys. “ ‘ This letter is for my family in case 
any serious crisis arises in the lives of my two chil¬ 
dren. It is not to he opened unless this crisis arrives. 
—Jenny MacHadra.’ 

“I have never considered that any great crisis had 
arisen until now,” said Mrs. Sandys. “Napier slipped 
so naturally into the life his father had led that there 
was no chance to interfere, but now I think you will 
all acknowledge that the time has come to learn what 
Sister Jenny has to say. Father, would you like to 
read it?” and she went up to his chair and offered 
the letter to him. 

The old man motioned it away, and standing beside 
him, she began in a quiet, cheerful voice: 




The Talk in the Best Parlor 


177 


“ ‘Dear Father and Mother, and Brothers and 
Sisters—you who have always been so good to your 
often trying Jenny—I wish I had the pen of a ready 
writer so that I could express to you the deep 
thoughts that flood my mind now that I know my 
span of life is nearly ended. I feel that I am to go 
to-day. To-morrow's golden sunshine will not be 
for me, but if it is permitted to departed spirits to 
come back, how often shall I hover over my beloved 
family; and if there is any good thing that Sister 
Jenny can do for you, be sure that blessings will be 
strewn along your path in life. 

“ f I am writing you about my beloved children — 
bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. How can I tell 
you the strange thoughts I have about them! Look 
into your own hearts, you who are parents, and you 
will understand. I am conscious of the fact that 
I have, through my own action, introduced into the 
good old sober family strain some new and wayward 
elements. I see traces of this already in my children. 
What developments may take place after I am gone 
I do not know, but I beg of you all, if some of these 
nameless terrors of mine take form, stand by the chil¬ 
dren of your sister Jenny as if they were your own. 

“ f This seems a strange thing to ask of you, but 
something tells me that if my children are in danger 
or distress, and you befriend them, there will be a 
resultant blessing to your own souls. Dear family, 
Sister Jenny is going, not out into the dark, for I 
know in whom I have believed; but my heart is wild 
because I cannot take with me these two precious 
mortals who are part of me. Watch over them, dear 
family, comfort and help them during their lives, be 
they long or short, but for life only; for when their 
closing hours come, then their mother's arms will be 


M 




i ;8 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


stretched wide open to receive them—and oh! that 
this triumphant moment were now! but I must leave 
them, and I am afraid. Oh, dear David and Jacob, 
and Lemuel, and Gylls, and Matilda, and Ales and 
Mercy, stand by my little ones! and as you do for 
them, may God do for you and yours; and with 
oceans of love, and until we meet again, always 
your devoted Jenny.’ ” 

Everybody was crying when Mrs. Sandys finished 
this letter and put it back in its envelope. Poor old 
Grandfather’s head hung down on his chest, and he 
was holding his big red handkerchief to his eyes, when 
suddenly brushing away her tears, Mrs. Sandys pointed 
to the painting and cried, “Look!” 

The western sun was sending in through the window 
where Nonnie had been standing a whole flood of 
golden rays that bathed Sister Jenny’s picture in a 
lovely light and made her smile more beautiful than 
ever. 

The family at once became more cheerful, and Mrs. 
Sandys said joyfully, “She does not wish us to grieve, 
and now you all know that I am the one to look after 
Jenny’s boy, and my husband is heartily with me in 
this. I am sure that he has some well-formed plan in 
his mind. What is it, Harlowen?” 

The Doctor got up, and holding me under his arm 
as if I had been a parcel, said in his nice modest way, 
“I wish to take my family to the city for a year. 
Some hospital practice will do me good.” 

Grandfather, who was particularly fond of the 
Downton children, asked harshly, “What about the 
prison shame that will hang over your children as 
long as they live?” 

“The Lord will take care of my children,” said the 
Doctor, “and Brother Dick will take my practice, I 




The Talk in the Best Parlor 


179 


am sure. My parents will probably enjoy a winter in 
Downton keeping house for him.” 

“Your father told me he was going to take 
your mother to Florida for the winter,” said Grand¬ 
father. 

“Probably they will be persuaded to change their 
minds,” said the Doctor mildly. “They are Sandyses, 
though the connection is distant.” 

Every one smiled, for it was a saying in the family 
that when Grandfather wished a thing done, it was 
done; but when Harlowen wished it done, it was done 
twice. 

After the Doctor’s little speech, the meeting appar¬ 
ently broke up, but there was an after one. When 
Grandfather, refusing the offer of Uncle Jacob’s arm, 
went stumbling down the hall to tell Grandmother 
what had happened, the family closed in again and 
began talking over his assertion that he would sell his 
house. 

“It’s unthinkable,” said Uncle Lemuel. “We’ve 
got to raise the money to secure the old place till he 
dies. I don’t know how we’ll do it, but it’s got to be 
done. I’ve just paid out my last dollar. I’ve got 
nothing but my stick left,” and he thumped the carpet 
with it. 

“You ought to be thankful you’ve got that,” said 
Uncle Gylls, who always would have his joke. “I 
haven’t even a cane. I’m going to mortgage my 
house. It’s a fashionable thing to do. I’d like to 
try it.” 

The upshot of it was that in a very few minutes this 
businesslike family had arranged to keep Grandfather 
in his house till the end of his days, and then they all 
composed their faces and went out of the room. 

Everybody forgot about me, and I was quietly 




i8o 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


lifting the cover of the potpourri jar when someone 
called “Jimmy Gold-Coast,” and made me drop it. 

I looked up, and there to my joy was my good friend 
Polly just coming out from behind the stuffed bird of 
paradise on the mantel. 

“You think you’re rather smart,” she said, “but 
you never saw me slipping in behind the family and 
hiding behind this old bird’s tail. I say, Monkey, this 
is dreadful news for the animals and birds. If our 
Downton Sandyses go to the city, the children will 
want to take half their menagerie, and the half that’s 
left behind will rage like the heathen.” 

“Oh, Polly!” I said, “I never thought about that. 
I’m just silly with happiness to think I shall be near 
my master.” 

“He may kill himself before we get there,” said 
Polly gloomily. 

“Hush! Hush!” I shrieked at her. “He isn’t that 
kind of a boy.” 

“No, I don’t think he is,” she said more cheerfully. 
“We’ll hope, as these good humans do, that this 
dreadful prison experience will make a man of him; 
and I bet you, Jimmy, that we’ll not finish our visit 
here, but start for home right away.” 

Polly was right; and that very night Mrs. Sandys 
came up into Nonnie’s room and said that we were to 
pack in the morning and start in the afternoon. 

The trunks were to go by train, and after Mrs. 
Sandys had made all arrangements with Nonnie about 
washing Benjie’s clothes early so that they could be 
dried before we started, she said, “I want to thank 
you for what you offered to do for Rachel and the boy 
to-day; but did you really think I would let you go 
to the city without me?” 

Nonnie’s eyes twinkled. “I didn’t know, Missa— 




The Talk in the Best Parlor 


181 


we’ve lived togedder for a sight of years. I always 
trusts you to do de right thing.” 

Mrs. Sandys dropped down in the rocking-chair and 
faced Nonnie, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. 
“You’ve been a good friend to this family, Nonnie. 
We don’t forget it, though perhaps we don’t say it 
often enough to you.” 

“It ain’t the sayin’ dat counts, Missa,” said Nonnie, 
“it’s de doin’, an’ de Sandyses is all right dere. Eber 
since your fadder an’ mudder got me a little picka¬ 
ninny Down-South, I’se been happy wid de Sandys 
fam’ly.” 

“I’ve often wondered if you were ever homesick,” 
said Mrs. Sandys. 

“Not for home folks,” said Nonnie emphatically, 
“ ’cause I’se got ’em here; but for ’quaintances an’ 
’sociates I has craved.” 

“Then it will be a good thing for you to go to the 
city,” said Mrs. Sandys eagerly. “There are plenty 
of colored people in Halifax.” 

Nonnie hung her head. “I’se ’most ashamed to 
go, Missa. Dey tells me dere’s lots of black folk in de 
city what is eddicated, an’ I always has been a lazy 
limb about de learnin’. Oh, if I had only hearkened 
to your good fadder an’ mudder when dey sont me to 
de village school! I would not min’ my book. ’Way 
down in Florida where dey got me ’twas de same 
thing. My aunt, what was brung up at de Florida 
State Normal Colored School, an’ den went to Hamp¬ 
ton, where she got dose songs I sings—she telled me 
I’d be sorry for hatin’ de books.” 

“Why don’t you study a bit now?” asked Mrs. 
Sandys. “I’d teach you.” 

Nonnie laughed heartily. “Dis dog am too ole to 
learn new tricks. I’ll jus’ have to bide what I be— 




Jimmy Gold-Coast 


182 


an ’ole know-nothin’ black woman, yet what de good 
Lord suffers, ’cause she do love all de dear white an’ 
black an’ yellow folkses what He made.” 

“You do love everybody, don’t you?” asked Mrs. 
Sandys curiously. 

“I loves dem,” said Nonnie earnestly, “but I jus’ 
hates deir bad ways, an’ as for dat ole debbil what 
tempts dem from de narrer path, wouldn’t I jus’ give 
him one good clip if I ever cotched him!” 




Chapter XX 


We Start for Home 


We left Rossignol the next afternoon, for Dr. and 
Mrs. Sandys were rushers, and when they once made 
up their minds to do a thing, they did it. 

We all packed ourselves in the big carriage, leaving 
only Shaker behind, for grandfather said that, though 
he was now a poor man, he could still keep a dog. 
I think the old man’s heart was very tender toward 
all tired and persecuted creatures, and the trembling 
Shaker had attached himself to him ever since he 
arrived. 

The old man went so slowly that Shaker could 
always keep up with him, and when he stopped to talk, 
Shaker could sit down. He was a sort of Aberdeen 
terrier with very short legs and hadn’t far to go to 
reach the ground. 

Well, the Doctor took a shorter way home, and we 
drove up the beautiful Liverpool River to Lake 
Rossignol, where his parents lived. Oh, what an 
interesting place! They had a gold mine, and a 
picturesque bungalow in the woods, and near by were 
nice friendly Indians who had their missionary with 
them—a courtly old gentleman with a long white beard 
and a musical voice. 

He greeted the Sandyses most kindly and told 
Rachel he remembered her mother. The Doctor got 
him to bring out the books he had written in the 
Micmac language and the dictionary he had made. 
Then he read to her a letter from Gladstone in which 
that famous man informed the missionary that his 
183 




184 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

translation of a Latin hymn was better than one he had 
done himself. 

The old scholar recited it to Rachel, but I can only 
remember the first few lines of the strange-sounding 
words: 


“Mei oves, O venite 
Ne timete nec abite, 

Ego bonus pastor sum.” 

However, I remember nearly the whole of a song he 
had written about an Indian, for Rachel said it over 
to him very slowly and very prettily in her clear 
young voice, and the old gentleman w* ;o gratified 
that he stroked her hair and called he his little 
“papoose.” 

* “In de dark wood, no Indian nigh, 

Den me look hebun, and send up cry, 

Upon my knee so low, 

Dat God on high in shiny place, 

See me in night wid teary face. 

My heart him tell me so. 

“Him send him angel take me care, 

Him come Himself and hearum prayer, 

If Indian heart do pray. 

Him see me now, Him know me here, 

Him say, Toor Indian, neber fear, 

Me wid you night and day/ 

“So me lub God wid inside heart. 

He fight for me, He takum part, 

He sabum life before. 

God lub poor Indian in de wood, 

And me lub He, and dat be good, 

Me pray Him two time more. 

* From “English and Latin Hymns,” Silas Tertius Rand, 
Missionary to the Micmacs. 




We Start for Home 


185 


“When me be old, me head be grey, 

Den Him no leabe me, so Him say, 

‘Me wid you till you die.’ 

Den take me up to shiny place, 

See white man, red man, black man face, 

All happy like on high.” 

I capered after Rachel when the missionary took 
her to see the Indians’ rustic chapel, and their small 
houses by the river bank. Some of them preferred 6 
camps for the summer time. They all had kind faces, 
and never killed the white people as in days gone by, 
but caught salmon and went hunting in the woods, 
saying they liked best the hunters who did not swear 
at the moose. A few of them worked on the river 
or in the mills and cultivated their small gardens. 

While Rachel was going about with this learned 
man, the Doctor and his parents sat out-of-doors 
talking. The elder people readily consented to go to 
Downton. Polly and I were chilly and went to bed 
when Rachel did, but Millie, when we questioned her 
the next day, said that the old Sandyses and the young 
Sandyses stayed up half the night talking, and they 
kept outside where they could hear the murmur of 
the river. 

Millie said that she curled herself up on the Doctor’s 
knee and stared at his father, whom she admired very 
much and who was not at all old, but wore corduroys 
and went about logging with the men and liked living 
in the woods. 

“I don’t wonder that he likes living here,” I said 
to Polly. “It is so peaceful, for the wind cannot 
get at them through these enormous trees, and the 
branching ferns and many wild flowers on the mead¬ 
ows remind me of tropical countries.” 

“We often come here,” said Polly, “for this Mrs. 




186 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Sandys loves her Doctor boy. Did you notice how she 
sits next him and smoothes his sleeve when he is 
talking ?” 

“Yes,” I said, “and I also saw how she tried to 
keep small Benjie on her lap to pet him, but the little 
scamp kept wriggling off, and she had to follow him 
about as a mother hen follows her chick.” 

We were all sorry to leave this hospitable back- 
woods home the next day, and everybody leaned from 
the carriage to call out, “Good-bye, good-bye, till we 
meet again,” and the old missionary waved his hand 
with a hearty “Weegegijik,” which meant “May you 
be happy!” 

After skirting the north shore of the beautiful lake, 
we drove through some dense woods until we reached 
the South Mountain, which we crossed, and then we 
were at home. 

We met with a great reception, for no one had 
expected us for a week yet. Dr. Dick Sandys was 
just driving into the yard when we arrived, and Dancer 
almost shook himself out of his harness when he saw 
his master. The pigeons flew round excitedly, the 
barn swallows stopped catching flies long enough to 
give us sharp welcoming glances, the cow fairly bel¬ 
lowed in delight, Messenger and Winged Heel fawned 
all over us, and Lament, Ollie and Mara came shouting 
from the next yard. 

The village was thunderstruck when it heard that 
the Sandyses were going to the city. Dr. Dick was 
good, but they wanted the man who had been with 
them for years. To make matters worse, the time 
had come for the kind Mr. Wiltshire to take a city 
church. It was really a painful season, but the sorrow 
was kept pretty well down, for these people were 




We Start for Home 


187 


courageous and did not want to sadden their old friends 
who had to leave them. 

With regard to the departure of the Sandys family, 
everybody was told quietly what the reason was, and 
every man, woman and child in the village was sym¬ 
pathetic, and without exception said that when the 
boy got out of prison he must come right here where 
his mother’s friends would stand by him. 

“Do you see how fragrant is the memory of the 
good who die at peace with their neighbors ?” said 
the Doctor to Rachel one day. 

Rachel, who was impulsive and demonstrative, 
made some gushing remark, and her uncle said, “I 
must warn you, Girlie, against talking too much 
about this affair of your brother’s. You are not a 
heroine in a story book. You are a plain little every¬ 
day girl going to do what you can to help your brother 
who has been guilty of a detestable crime. You must 
not make a hero of him. He has brought disgrace 
on his whole family, and though we are willing to help 
him, we are all smarting under this disgrace. You 
must absolutely keep your feelings to yourself on the 
subject or discuss them with your aunt or me. 

Rachel put her head on one side and went away to 
think this over. She had been posing as a heroine 
among the village children and had talked too 
much. 

Mr. Wiltshire bowed his head in sympathy when the 
Doctor told him their trouble, and said he would ask 
his parishioners in the city to engage two houses 
instead of one. 

Just before we all left the village the Valley people 
gave the Wiltshires what they called a donation party, 
and it interested me immensely, for I had never seen 
anything like it before. 




Jimmy Gold-Coast 


188 

It was a holiday all over the country, and early in 
the afternoon, as I lay asleep in a willow chair, Polly 
called to me, “Come on up to the Methodist parsonage, 
Jimmy; the presents are beginning to arrive.’’ 

I gambolled up the street after her, and we took our 
station on the picket fence and watched everybody 
driving in. They came from up and down the Valley 
and from the two mountains. Men put their horses 
in the barn till it would hold no more; then they 
took them to neighbors or tied them to the fences, 
first, of course, lifting off the harness so that they 
could enjoy themselves, too. A farmer would have 
his own conveyance for himself and his wife and the 
young children, and his unmarried sons would come 
driving up each with a nice girl in his buggy beside 
him. 

The women went into the house and made Mrs. 
Wiltshire sit in a rocking-chair while they prepared 
the supper, and the men took the presents in or left 
them in the yard, for they were not all house presents. 

There were loads of cordwood, bags of vegetables, 
bundles of hay, a set of harness, a squealing young 
pig, who was the only cross thing there, having just 
been taken from his mother, and wanting to know 
why she wasn’t invited to the party, too. Then there 
were kitchen utensils, aprons, woollen jackets and 
scarves, bags of nice soft hens’ feathers for pillows, 
rag mats hooked by the farmers’ wives, and lots of 
good cooked food and many jars of preserved fruit. 

When Polly surveyed the pies and cakes, the apples, 
pears, plums, peaches and grapes, she snapped her 
beak in delight, and even I tried to forget my master 
and enjoy myself a bit. I had not been eating very 
well lately, but the sight of all this tempting food 




We Start for Home 


189 


revived me, and I knew I should pick at a little some¬ 
thing when they all got started. 

At last there were so many people that they 
overflowed from the kitchen and parlor into halls and 
bedrooms, then into the yard and garden. A donation 
party was a fine time to meet friends, and there was a 
lot of handshaking, and even kissing going on between 
people who had not met for a long time. 

The weather was so balmy that when supper time 
came the people ate out-of-doors, and there was much 
joking and merriment when the trays of coffee and 
glasses of milk and cider and home-made wines began 
going round. When it got dark the house was lighted 
up, for lamps had been borrowed from the neighbors, 
but all of them put together could not hold a candle 
to the Lady Moon who came up in full strength to 
beam down approval on the popular Wiltshires. 

The supper lasted for a long time, and then came 
the singing, which was admirable for a country place. 
Really, that village choir could hold its own with any 
singers I had ever heard, for the persons in it had 
rich, rounded voices, and they were not afraid to let 
them out. Many a time have I curled up under my 
Master’s coat in big cities and listened to park con¬ 
certs that did not please me half so much as this one 
did. 

Finally came speeches, and old Deacon Wellington 
of the Baptist church was superb, and said things in a 
way so simple that even a monkey could understand. 
He began by telling how the whole country-side was 
mourning over the loss of these two men—Dr. Sandys 
and Mr. Wiltshire—that they had been with the 
Valley in sickness and in health, in poverty and in 
wealth—that they were brothers to everybody. They 
had earned the title of the two doctors to the mind 




Jimmy Gold-Coast 


190 

and the body, and every one prayed that they would 
both come back. They begrudged them to the city. 
Then, as to their wives—and here the good deacon 
paused and looked about on the women present, and 
finally stopped short and could not go on. 

“What’s the matter with him?” I whispered to 
Polly, who had moved beside me to a little Siberian 
crab-apple tree. “Why can’t he finish?” 

“He’s thinking,” she said, “of all the births and 
deaths, and the funerals and marriages where these 
two women have been present. He lost a daughter 
himself not long ago. He’ll have to sit down,” and 
he did, and another man had to get up and speak 
about Mrs. Sandys and Mrs. Wiltshire. 

After the speeches, they had an auction, for the 
Wiltshires could not take all their presents to the 
city. A young man jumped up on a table in the 
yard, and said such funny things that everybody 
shouted with laughter, and then the donation party 
broke up. 

I shall never forget the singing down the country 
roads—such touching farewell songs—“Will Ye No 
Come Back Again,” “Should Auld Acquaintance Be 
Forgot,” and then one for Mrs. Wiltshire, which 
nearly broke her heart, for it was usually a funeral 
hymn and began: 

“Sister, thou wast mild and lovely, 

Gentle as a summer breeze, 

Pleasant as the air of evening, 

When it floats among the trees.” 

The last song we heard as the last carriage went 
over the bridge was “God Be With You Till We 
Meet Again,” and poor Mr. Wiltshire broke down 
and ran into his house. 

The Doctor and Mrs, Sandys were the last to go 




We Start for Home 


191 

home, and Rachel was with them, for since the trouble 
about her brother the child had grown strangely old, 
and played games no longer with the other children, 
but kept close to her uncle and aunt. 

“Queer, isn’t it,” said Polly to me that night, 
“that one boy has power to upset the whole Sandys’ 
connection? He is changing his uncle’s plans, and 
making him transplant his family to the city when 
he would rather stay at home, worrying old Grand¬ 
father and the rest of the relatives, and breaking the 
hearts of the animals and birds of this place who are 
to be left behind.” 

“Polly Shillaber,” I said, “stop right there!” 

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Jimmy, dear,” 
she said. “You know how much I think of you, but 
Pm just remarking on the strange circumstances that 
one person in the world has such power to disturb. I 
believe that good will come out of it all for us, but 
now it is just like walking in a dark wood. One can 
see no light ahead, but the light is there, Jimmy, just 
like the lovely glowing pillar on the water that night.” 

“You’re better than the hens,” I said. “That 
Rooster Red-face is talking shamefully about my 
master. He says he wishes he had never been born— 
that he has been the sore spot of the family for years, 
and that no good will come of going to the city, for 
who will pet the hens now that Nonnie and the children 
are going away? He says that he hopes Master Nappy 
will drop dead.” 

“That Rooster Red-face always was a rebellious 
bird,” said Polly, “and now that he is getting old his 
bad spirit will lead him to the roasting pan. Didn’t 
someone have to take care of him when he was a 
little chickie? I remember once he couldn’t follow 
his mother over the coarse stubble of the corn-field, 




192 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


and Nonnie picked him up and warmed him in her 
bosom. Who is he to talk of trouble over a wander¬ 
ing young thing? I shall have to speak to Rooster 
Red-Face.” 

“I wish you would, Polly,” I said sadly; “all the 
spring has gone out of me, and I just let that rooster 
walk all over me.” 

“You’ll be happier when we get to the city,” said 
Polly kindly, “and try not to be dull. It’s almost 
worse to be dull than to be wicked. Brighten up, 
and enliven the family with your cute little tricks. 
Monkeys really have a mission in the world.” 

I thanked her and asked her if she would permit 
me to scratch the back of her head, for I felt that I 
had been rather neglecting her lately, and as I per¬ 
formed this friendly office for the good old bird, I felt 
better, and didn’t become mournful even when I went 
into the house and saw Mrs. Sandys dropping tears 
as she wrapped up a bundle of tiny shoes and tossed 
them up through a hole in the attic roof. 

“I can’t bear to destroy them,” she said, “on account 
of the little feet that have pressed them, and there 
are no poor persons here to give them to.” 




Chapter XXI 


We Move to the City 


Oh ! that moving. I shall never forget it. Mr. 
Wiltshire had written to the city, and his new flock 
had engaged a house for the Sandyses next door to the 
one that he was to have himself, and it was partly 
furnished, so the Sandyses had only a few things to 
pack up. 

They got ready very quickly, and then the Doctor’s 
father and mother came, and Mrs. Sandys explained 
everything to them, even what to do if the hens should 
get ill. 

Millie was to go to the city with Polly and me. 
Dancer was in despair that he had to stay at home, 
but Polly said, “You’d be more in despair if you went 
with us, for city stables are not light and airy like 
country stables.” 

The wild birds were most downcast about our 
leaving, but Polly consoled them by telling them that 
the Doctor’s parents, like all the Sandyses, were sincere 
lovers of wild life and would feed them well. 

“And is food everything?” asked Daisy the robin 
indignantly. “You know very well, Polly Shillaber, 
that we shall miss most the petting that the children 
give us. Who is going to make up for that? I do 
not feel like encouraging my mate to sing songs 
over the graves of the parents of that bad young 
man.” 

Daisy got a good scolding for this, and Polly re¬ 
minded her of the summer when she had a wayward 
nestling who would go near the crows, and how grate- 
193 N 




194 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


ful she was to the king-birds who drove the mis¬ 
chievous birds from the tall pines in the cemetery. 

Bessy the cow did not say much about our going 
away, but she looked unutterable things and tossed 
her head a good deal and poked the fences with her 
horns. When the day came that we were to leave, 
she did a curious thing that all the human beings 
thought was accidental, but we animals knew it was 
done on purpose. 

Poor old Bessy knew that on the morning of our 
day of departure, Mrs. Sandys went to the village 
bank and drew out all her money. It was in her side 
pocket in a soft wallet, and when the afternoon came 
and Dr. Dick called all the creatures out in the yard 
to say good-bye to their owners, Bessy eyed Mrs. 
Sandys in such a strange manner that Polly signalled 
to me to keep my eye on her. 

The village people were waiting out in the street 
in their carriages to escort us to the station, and Dr. 
and Mrs. Sandys, and Rachel and the other children 
were going round the yard patting the animals and 
throwing loving words to the birds, and trying to look 
cheerful. 

Old Bessy stood chewing her cud, but when Mrs. 
Sandys threw one arm affectionately around her soft 
neck, didn’t that cunning cow lower her head and 
sneak the wallet out of Mrs. Sandys’ coat pocket. 

It was pretty fat, but that didn’t bother Bessy, and 
she was about to swallow it when Polly flew to her 
back and cried angrily, “Scotland’s burning! Look 
out!” 

I wasn’t afraid of Bessy, and saying, “It’s no go, old 
thing, you can’t keep them home; they’re going even 
if they have to borrow money; spit that thing out,” 

I ran my arm down her capacious throat and caught 




We Move to the City 


195 


the wallet on the wing. It was pretty pulpy, but the 
bills were all right when I snatched them out of the 
wallet and handed them to Mrs. Sandys. 

I felt sorry that I got all the glory out of this. The 
neighbors cheered me, and jeered at poor old Bessy, 
who wheeled round and travelled toward her box 
stall quicker than I had ever seen her move before. 

Dr. Sandys gave her a queer look, and following 
her, petted her considerably, so that she was com¬ 
forted; and when we left, sent after us quite a con¬ 
tented lowing. He had told her that she should not 
be sold and a year would soon pass. 

We had quite a procession to the station, and when 
we got on the train we were almost smothered in 
flowers and had enough boxes of cake and candy to 
last us for weeks. 

The conductor, who knew the Sandys’ family, al¬ 
lowed them to take Polly and me and Millie in the 
first-class carriage, and we were amused in watching 
Benjie and Ollie, who had never been in a train before. 
They were not frightened, for they were bold young 
creatures, but they were very much astonished and 
were always trying to poke their heads out of the 
window to see the front part of this unnaturally long 
automobile. 

After we had been in the train about an hour, we 
reached the meadows and the memorial cross and 
statue of the famed Evangeline district, and Dr. 
Sandys, pointing beyond the old willows to the Bay 
of Minas, drew a word picture for his children of the 
day so long ago when the English ships sailed in to 
take the frightened Acadians away to foreign lands. 

In two hours more we arrived in the city, where 
some kind people belonging to Mr. Wiltshire’s church 
met us and put us in taxis. 




196 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Nonnie, who was with Polly and me and the chil¬ 
dren, began to smile pleasantly. She was so relieved 
to be getting near our master that she almost forgot 
the sad fact about his being in prison. Indeed, there 
was a decided and happy change in her during the 
last few days, but no one but myself knew the reason 
for it till some time later. 

When should we see him ?—that was the first 
thought with every one. He had been moved from 
the city prison to the county jail, and after his trial 
would probably be sent to the penitentiary in the out¬ 
skirts of the city. 

I felt dreadfully for Nonnie, so much so that I al¬ 
most forgot my own sorrow, when our taxi paused for 
a moment opposite an imposing building with grinning 
stone faces in front, and the kind lady belonging to 
Mr. Wiltshire’s church who was with us said, “That 
is the court-house, and the jail is behind it.” 

Nonnie bent her head from the window to look at 
the high wall behind which her dear boy languished, 
and for a minute it seemed as if she were going to 
faint. However, remembering that she must not give 
way before a stranger, she drew herself up, straight¬ 
ened little Benjie’s cap, and asked the name of the 
street we were on. 

“Spring Garden Road,” said our kind guide, and I 
saw Nonnie giving a shrewd glance about her, but little 
suspected that she was getting her bearings and in the 
middle of the night would be down here again staring 
at those high walls. 

“And opposite us is St. Mary’s Cathedral and a 
playground for children,” the lady went on, pointing 
across the broad road. “Also the General’s residence,” 
she said presently; “and here we turn down to our 
street.” 




We Move to the City 


19 7 


It was a sober street we were to live on, with sober- 
looking houses set close to the sidewalk. The gardens 
were all at the back and had high board fences round 
them. 

Nonnie wrinkled her eyebrows, but Rachel said 
quickly, “Some of those houses are pretty inside, 
Nonnie. I’ve noticed that when I’ve been calling 
with Aunt Ales.” 

The lady with us smiled. “A Haligonian’s house is 
his castle, and he nearly always boards it in, though 
some of us are breaking away from the custom and 
have open lawns—here we are,” and our taxi drew up 
before a tall double house with a long entrance staircase. 

“Looks as if it were on stilts,” laughed Rachel. 
“You won’t like those long steps, Nonnie, but what a 
cute, squatty little schoolhouse opposite!” 

“That belongs to the pro-cathedral behind it,” said 
the lady, “but see that crowd of children. How much 
interested they are in you new-comers.” 

We all sat for a few seconds in the taxi as if we 
were paralyzed. There was such a scene of confusion 
outside that it seemed a pity to add to it by getting 
out. The landlord had allowed the Wiltshires and the 
Sandyses to move in this twin house while the other 
two families were moving out, and our furniture going 
in was meeting waves of furniture going out, and in 
many cases there were breakers ahead. 

Mr. Wiltshire, with his clergyman’s soft hat on one 
side, and Dr. Sandys, with a grin on his face, which 
was dirty for the first time since my acquaintance with 
him, were trying to keep some order among the men, 
who were saying horrible things to each other. 

Polly gave an awful yell and flew out of the taxi to 
the top of a bureau that stood drunkenly in the gutter 
with one leg on the sidewalk. 




198 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


'‘Keep in de middle of de road, children,” she sang, 
and then everybody shouted with laughter, and the 
workmen stopped for a minute, and taking off their 
hats, wiped the perspiration from their foreheads. 

A crowd of rather nice-looking children swarming 
in the street pressed closer to get a better sight of her, 
until Dr. Sandys, seeing that something had to be done 
to clear the tracks, waved his arms and began to call 
out the Micmac alphabet. 

The children, with wide-open mouths, moved across 
to the opposite sidewalk, and I regret to say that as 
long as we lived on this street, they labored under the 
secret conviction that our clever Doctor was not quite 
right in his head. 

Rachel, with an ecstatic expression on her face, 
picked me up and got out of the taxi. She was at 
last in the same city that sheltered her dear brother, 
and with a glowing face, she went up to her aunt. 
“What can I do to help about the moving?” 

“Take the children for a walk,” said Mrs. Sandys, 
with rather an hysterical laugh. “Their faces make 
me homesick.” 

Rachel began to sweep her flock together, but Benjie 
broke away. “I don't like dis front yard what ain’t 
here,” he said with a curl of his red lip. “Please take 
Benjie to de back garden.” 

“Yes, my little man,” said Rachel, and putting me 
down, she led them up a lane behind the Wiltshires’ 
part of the house to a gate in a board fence higher 
than the average. 

This gate on being opened showed us a good-sized, 
grass-covered yard with no flower beds, but with 
plenty of shrubbery. There was a small stable and 
ice-house at one end, and where the yard swept down 
to the street there was a low railing, to which Benjie 




We Move to the City 


199 


ran and called, “I can see fings from here—what’s 
dat noise, Rachel?” 

We all listened, and Nonnie, who had followed 
us, began to shudder. “If dat ain’t a wailin’ 
sound!” 

“That’s a soldier’s funeral,” said Rachel. “I’ve 
seen one before when I’ve been here. Why, now I 
think of it, chickies, we’re on the same street as the 
soldiers’ burying ground. Here comes the procession.” 

They all looked over the railing, and I peeped from 
between their feet through the bars. 

Oh! how sad it was. The red-coated soldiers 
marched so slowly, and the Dead March was so pierc¬ 
ing that I hid my head in Nonnie’s dress. “A sorry 
welcome to de city!” I heard the dear old woman 
mutter, and tears came in her eyes. 

It was the funeral of an officer, and his coffin was 
borne on a gun carriage with a flag over it, and his 
horse was led behind with the reversed boots resting 
in the stirrups. 

“Don’t cry, Nonnie, don’t cry,” pleaded Rachel. 
“Wait a minute, there’ll be something joyful”; and 
after a short time, when all the soldiers had filed by 
and the short service was over in the cemetery, three 
shots rang out, and then came very cheerful music 
from the same instruments that had played the thrill¬ 
ing Dead March. 

“So joy comes after sorrow,” exclaimed Rachel, 
while little Benjie said, “I wants to die an’ have a 
soldier’s funel, and a man a-beatin’ a barrel wid sticks 
wid tatters on de ends.” 

“Hush, darling,” said Rachel, quite shocked, and 
she told him the proper name of the big drum and the 
other musical instruments; then she said, “Come on 
now, Nonnie has to go in the house and help auntie, 




200 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

but Rachel will take you for a lovely walk to the Public 
Gardens.” 

The children were used to obeying her, and like a 
flock of lambs following a good shepherdess, they 
trailed after her up the street. Millie, very cross and 
growly about coming to the city, trotted along, too, 
but Polly stayed at home on the bureau and addressed 
various uncomplimentary remarks to the children 
who surveyed her at a safe distance from Dr. 
Sandys. 

A few of the boys and girls skirmished about in our 
rear and showed a disposition to ask questions, but 
Rachel, who did not feel like attending to them just 
now, nodded to her family. 

They all began to run, Rachel carrying me over her 
chest with one arm around me, and as she ran almost 
as easily as a bird flies, I was quite comfortable. The 
city children were soon outwinded, and then we went 
more slowly. Rachel glanced up one street and down 
another, and without once having to ask her way, led 
us to an iron gate, and opening it, ushered us into a 
green paradise. 

She put Millie’s lead on, but let me down for a short 
run among the trees and the flowers. When she saw 
some children coming, she asked Mara for the sash 
around her waist, and with a couple of safety pins 
made me a cloak. The ingenuity of the country 
children always amused me. They could make any¬ 
thing they needed. Hardly any toys were bought 
for them, but they were given tools and required to 
copy things from books or to make them according 
to directions. 

Mara’s sash around my shoulders made me look like 
a blue doll, and crumpling up two maple leaves, Rachel 
fashioned a bonnet. 




We Move to the City 


201 


“But we ought to have some trimming,” suggested 
softly the little Mara, who rarely spoke. 

Rachel looked around her and her eye fell on some 
forget-me-nots in a near-by flower bed. Plucking only 
a very few, she pinned them in the front of my bonnet, 
then with it pulled well down over my face, she wended 
her way from one part of the attractive garden to 
another. Such beauty and peace made a great 
impression on the children fresh from their dusty 
street. 

Unluckily we met one of the gardeners, who darted 
a suspicious glance at the flowers in my bonnet front. 
“You picked them here?” he asked, and Rachel bowed 
her head gravely. 

“Take them out,” he said. “How do you suppose 
we could keep this garden up if all the children pulled 
flowers?” 

Rachel, who had a good broad streak of mischief in 
her, held me toward him. “You could plant more 
flowers, sir—and don’t you want to take those out? 
My doll can say ‘Mamma’ if you press her chest.” 

The man leaned on his rake, and extending a 
finger, gave me quite a heavy dent over my breast 
bone. 

“Yap!” I snarled irritably, and he jumped right 
in the air.” 

“Ha! ha! ha!” we heard in a hearty voice, and 
close by us we saw a cheery Irishman, who turned out 
to be superintendent of the gardens. “Never saw 
you jump so quick before, Martin,” he said. “What 
bit you?” 

“That doll, sir,” said the man. “Press its stomach 
and hear it say ‘Mamma!’ ” 

The Irishman, who was not afraid of anything, did 
as he was requested, and taking my cue from Rachel, 




202 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


I uttered a nice soft little sound in my throat that 
sounded like “Mamma!” 

Martin, very sheepish and ashamed of himself, took 
up his rake and hurried away, and the superintendent 
talked some time to Rachel. 

Afterwards he became a friend of hers, for he loved 
all the children who came to the gardens, and they 
loved him. 

He was very much interested in me, and after a 
time said, “Why not take your monkey for a walk 
on the Citadel ? It’s a fine clear day, and you’ll 
have a good view out to sea. Do you know the 
way?” 

“Quite well,” said Rachel. “My aunt has taken 
me there several times during my visits to the city,” 
and saying good-bye to her new friend, she led the 
children past a large pond with scalloped edges, where 
some fine ducks and swans were disporting themselves, 
and down one of the shady green lanes of the gardens 
to another iron gate. 

Holding me lightly on her arm, she trotted along, 
talking rapidly to the children. “That grassy hill 
in front of us is the Citadel, and when we get to the 
top of it we shall be in what our beloved Virgil calls 
‘the middle of things.’ Under that grass surface is 
a big fort, children, with a square for drilling soldiers, 
and dark dungeons where prisoners used to be 
confined.” 

“Benjie likes dungeens,” said the baby. “Let’s go 
see dem.” 

“Not to-day, darling,” said Rachel. “Your 
mother will take us there. We’ll keep outside now. 
Listen and Rachel will tell you the story of the Duke of 
Kent, father of the good Queen Victoria, and how he 
had this hill smoothed into shape,” and she told them a 




We Move to the City 203 

long story about the fort and the old clock tower on 
its flanks. 

All the time she talked she led them up the hill to 
the wide walk round the crest of it. Suddenly she 
stopped and said, “Look back!” 

Now we could see the wonderful harbor in all its 
beauty. It stretched itself out like a long, living blue 
thing, and then there was a tiny neck, and didn’t it 
widen into another harbor. 

Rachel told the children another story about this 
second harbor, and how a French Armada in days 
gone by had set out to conquer North America for the 
French king. A storm came up, and most of the ships 
hurried into this Bedford Basin at the head of Halifax 
Harbor for refuge. Hundreds of poor sailors died, 
and for many years afterward anyone wandering in 
the woods about the basin might come on their skel¬ 
etons in decayed uniforms with old-fashioned guns 
by their side. 

The blue harbor was covered with ships gliding 
in and out, and Rachel told the children that their 
father was going to take them down to the wharves 
and hire a boatman who would row them round the 
big steamers and war vessels. 

“And now,” she said, “we are going home, for poor 
Benjie’s eyes can scarcely keep open.” 

They were all tired, and I ran down the hill, while 
Lament and Ollie each took a hand of the exhausted 
Benjie. Lament had to carry me, though, when we 
got lost and wandered into some soldiers’ barracks 
at the foot of the hill. I had taken off my cloak and 
bonnet so I could run freely, and now every one could 
see that I was a monkey. The soldiers roared with 
laughter, and Rachel motioned to Lament to pick me up. 
for she wanted to get the right direction to our home. 




204 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


The soldiers told her honestly enough, but she got 
lost again, and then Ollie fell into trouble. We heard 
him shouting behind, and Rachel ran back and threw 
her arm round him. 

An irate grocer had him by the collar and was shak¬ 
ing him and taking away a good-sized lobster that the 
boy was clasping to his breast. 

While Rachel was trying to effect a rescue, a good- 
natured looking policeman with fiery red hair showing 
under his helmet sauntered up and asked what the 
trouble was. 

Quite a little crowd assembled while the matter 
was being thrashed out, and when it was settled every¬ 
one roared with laughter. It seemed that the enter¬ 
prising grocer had on one side of his doorway a stack 
of picture cards advertising his goods, and on the other 
a number of salt-fish and lobsters in coquettish atti¬ 
tudes. Some wag in going by had transferred the “Take 
One,” from the cards to the fish, and Ollie, accus¬ 
tomed to the generous ways of the country, had chosen 
a lobster, whereupon the grocer had fallen on him. 

The poor boy, not knowing who the grocer was, held 
on to his lobster till the man had torn all the claws 
off, and the policeman laughing so he could scarcely 
speak, motioned Rachel to lead her flock away, until 
she told him she did not know where to lead. 

He wiped his eyes with a big spotted handkerchief, 
and calling a street urchin to him said, “Take these 
kids home. No tricks, mind.” 

Rachel said fervently, “You are a second ASneas, 
sir,” and he smiled foolishly, but looked pleasant, and 
when winter came and he caught her coasting down 
forbidden hills he never took her sled from her. The 
boy, however, was a naughty boy, and had a hard 
heart, for he saw how tired the children were, and yet 




We Move to the City 


205 


he led them round and round the streets near their 
home till at last Rachel found him out, and said, 
“You’ve brotight us past that shop twice. If you 
don’t take us right straight to Queen Street, I’ll tell 
the policeman on you.” 

The bad boy grinned, but he managed to get us home 
pretty quick, and then I gave up the lobster that I 
had seized during the confusion and wrapped in a 
piece of dirty paper from the gutter. 

This I did by way of revenge, for the grocer’s boy 
had scorned my beloved family by referring to them 
in the disagreeable fashion in which some ignorant 
children speak of foreigners. “They’re Eyetalians,” 
he had sneered. “Look how dark they be, and they 
have a monk with them!” 




Chapter XXII 


A Tired Family 


By the time we arrived home it was nearly dark, and 
the last load of furniture was just going in to the 
Wiltshires’. 

Seeing that a packing box stood across our high 
front steps, Rachel led the exhausted children up the 
lane and through the garden to the back door. 

Finding herself confronted by a long stairway, she 
conducted the children down to regions below, Ollie 
grumbling meanwhile, “It’s kind of funny to go to 
the cellar to eat.” 

When she got to the foot of the stairway, Rachel 
peered along a wide hall into dark and cavernous coal 
cellars, a scullery, and then at a lone twinkling gas jet 
on the wall. 

“Nonnie,” she called, and a voice answered, “Yes, 
honey, Fse cornin’,” and Nonnie’s dear old full moon 
face suddenly appeared in the gloomy hall. 

“I feel like a lost person in a dark forest,” said 
Rachel, not in a frightened way, but rather as if though 
she was determined to be cheerful she had at last 
struck something disagreeable. 

“Dis is a kin’ of a monstrous downstairs,” said 
Nonnie cheerfully, “a party could drive his coach an’ 
six through it. Now tramp down dis hall like little 
soldiers, and give de dinin’-room de go-by ’cause it’s 
all full of stuff, an’ come on into de kitchen where 
Nonnie’s got a good fire agin your cornin’.” 

The kitchen was a sight—half open boxes of crock¬ 
ery-ware, and pots and kettles stood in the corners, the 
206 




A Tired Family 


207 


light came dimly through two windows, half sunk in 
the ground, but there were two bright and shining 
black faces in the room, namely, Nonnie’s and the 
cooking-stove’s. 

“Laws-a-massey!” she exclaimed, “it’s good to 
see you, ’cause your mudder’s been a-worryin’. Set 
down, honeys, on dem boxes. You look drug out. 
Lament, jus’ you light one more gas finger. Here’s 
a match. Dere ain’t no electricity in dis ole-fashioned 
house.” 

The tired children sank down in various attitudes, 
and I scrambled up beside Polly, who was on a clothes 
rack, while Millie, who liked heat even better than I 
did, went under the stove. 

“Your parents has had deir supper,” said Nonnie, 
“now you jus’ fall to. Look what de chu’ch an’ 
congregation sont de Wiltshires’,” and she lifted some 
papers on the kitchen dresser. 

The church and congregation had certainly been 
very kind. Sponge cake, chocolate cake, cream pies, 
squash pies, lemon pies, roast chicken, a joint of beef, 
buttered rolls, fancy biscuits, and a goodly supply of 
fruit smiled at the children from that shelf. 

“It certainly am munificent,” said Nonnie, “an’ 
I know you’se jus’ as much glorified as I is, though 

you’s too beat out to speak- Well! talkin’ ain’t 

eatin’,” and seizing a chicken by one of its legs, she 
set it out of the way, and cutting off slices of bread, 
buttered them and piled them on a box cover. 

“I dunno where de plates is, chillen, it’s got to be 
ketch an’ take it to-night—but stop!” she exclaimed 
as eager hands were thrust out, “de Lord has been 
very good to us, an’ dere’s got to be a blessin’ said 
over dat food.” 

There were signs of rebellion, and Lament grumbled, 





208 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“This ain’t a reg’lar meal,” while fat Ollie licked his 
lips impatiently, but Rachel stood by Nonnie, who 
rose to her own weary feet and, holding tight on the 
cover of bread, began to give thanks for their pleasant 
home in the country, their safe journey to the city, and 
the nourishing food set before them. 

The children all joined her in a fervent “Amen,” 
then they “fell to” as Nonnie said. 

Polly and I devoured some musk-melon, a pear, and 
a peach, while Millie had a tin pan full of delicious 
things under the stove. The children, however, were 
really too tired to eat, and Benjie and Mara went to 
sleep and spilt their cups of hot milk, scalding them¬ 
selves and making them cry peevishly. 

“Come to bed, Lammie,” said Nonnie to Benjie, 
and taking him by the hand she half led him, half 
carried him up a second long flight of stairs that went 
from this huge basement to a wide hall above. Here 
was a sitting-room, and in front of it a parlor with 
a high old-fashioned ceiling. Nonnie toiled up an¬ 
other staircase to the next story. The sounds of 
tramping and hammering had ceased, for the men had 
all gone away, and Dr. and Mrs. Sandys sat on two 
chairs in the hall and surveyed each other without 
speaking. 

They roused themselves when they saw the children. 
“Mother’s baby,” said Mrs. Sandys affectionately. 
“Bring him here, Nonnie,” and she showed her the 
way to a front room. 

Nonnie began to laugh. “It certainly am strange 
to see dat little cot bed jus’ up an’ flown to de city.” 

Mrs. Sandys smiled feebly, and said, “Call the 
others to come as soon as they have finished their 
supper.” 

“No need to call dis night, Missa,” said Nonnie, 




A Tired Family 


209 


“dey is all as wore out as young dogs. Here dey is,” 
and the rest of the family led by Rachel appeared in 
the doorway. 

“How exhausted you all look,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Sandys, “your eyes have black rings round them. 
You should not have taken the children so far, Rachel.” 

“How do you know we have been far, Auntie?” 
asked Rachel. “We might have been in to a neigh¬ 
bor’s.” 

Her aunt smiled. “I know your ways, my child. 
I predict that you will wear yourself to a bone now 
that there are so many new things to see. As for 
your sleeping arrangements in this tower, you and 
Mara may each have a room on this floor, Ollie and 
Lament will have to go to the attic.” 

Rachel took me in her arms, and going to the hall 
window stared at the brick school-house opposite and 
the church steeple behind it. “Only straight rows of 
trees on the sidewalk,” she murmured, “no little 
brook to sing you to sleep, just a narrow strip of 

sky- Oh! Jimmy, I’m sorry for the little children 

who have to live in the city all the time.” 

“Well! well! Miss Rachel,” I thought, “as city 
streets go, this is quite a nice one. Now if you were 
in the slums, you might complain. I wonder where 
the worst streets are here?” 

She found them later on and was shocked, but 
I could have told her that there were no real slums in 
this little city. Even the worst streets were fairly 
wide. True, the houses were dark and dingy, for as 
Nonnie said, “De salt air sets de sut from de soft 
coal de people burns,” but there were no really 
unhealthy spots such as exist in many other cities. 

Benjie, tired as he was, would not go to sleep that 
night until Rachel told him a story about his dear 

o 





210 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Clumpus whom he had hated to leave. “I don’t see 
no pussies here,” he wailed, “an’ Benjie wants his 
Clumpus—tell him a good-night pussy tale.” 

Rachel, after putting me beside Polly on the top 
of a trunk that she had chosen for a sleeping-place, 
went to comfort the small boy, who fell sound asleep 
while she was saying, “In the hen-house the hens are 
listening to Clumpus who has stolen up to tell them 
a lovely story all about the Benjie boy living ’way 
off in the city, where hens sometimes lay golden eggs 
and cats have wings, and-” 

Here her voice trailed off, and Nonnie coming on 
tiptoe into the room and seeing that Rachel had fallen 
asleep with Benjie’s hand in her own, said, “Lord 
bless dose chillen. Dey goes to sleep before deir 
heads touches de pillow. Dere’s two kinds of tired¬ 
ness—de ornery kin,’ and’ de extronery kin’. Give dis 
chile de onery kin’,” and rousing Rachel she helped 
her to undress. 

When the child was tucked in her bed, the good old 
woman came back to Polly and me. “Jimmy,” she 
said, “de whole fam’ly but you an’ me is off for 
de night, but we still has work for our footses to 
do.” 

“Good gracious!” I said in an aside to Polly, “I 
believe she is going to take me to hover around that 
prison. I’m delighted, but I fear that she will drop 
on the way.” 

“Don’t fret about that,” said Polly. “No woman 
ever drops when she has a baby in her arms.” 

“Now what do you mean by that?” I asked 
curiously. 

Polly nearly killed herself laughing, but secretly, 
for fear of waking the family. 

When I pressed her to tell me, she said, “In spite 




A Tired Family 


211 


of all she has had to do, Nonnie has been making baby 
clothes this afternoon, and a pack for your back.” 

“Am I to be a baby twice in one day!” I said. 
“I won’t do it.” 

“Yes, you will,” said Polly. “You’ll do anything 
to see your master, and you’ll love your beautiful 
dress.” 

I gazed at Nonnie in dismay. She really had fash¬ 
ioned for me a rough infant’s gown with a long tail 
to it, and in spite of my feeble resistance, she put it 
on me. “I’ll take it off till we start for de prison, 
honey,” she said, “an’ it won’t be too hot ’cause 
Nonnie’ll carry you. Keep still now, like a cute little 
boy.” 

I put my arms in the ridiculous sleeves, but almost 
collapsed when she put a baby bonnet on my head. 

Polly was all doubled up on top of the trunk, cack¬ 
ling under her breath. “It’s well there’s some cheerful¬ 
ness about this visit to the city,” she said, “of all dreary 
places—and what legions of cats! I shall never dare 

to stir out till I size up their fighting qualities- 

Oh! Jimmy, you are a scream.” 

“I feel like biting,” I said crossly, “but if a baby 
gown will bring me nearer my master, I’ll wear one if 
the train is as long as Queen Street.” 

“That’s the right spirit, Jimmy,” said Polly, “but 
be careful, don’t presume too much on your baby 
looks. Nova Scotians are no fools, and jail is a jail, 
so be careful.” 





Chapter XXIII 


A Visit to the County Jail 


Nonnie was so tired that she had to rest a while 
before she set out. When the dining-room clock that 
we had brought with us from Downton struck twelve, 
she put on her checked shawl and cap, re-dressed me in 
the infant’s garb, pulled my bonnet well on my head, 
arranged my veil so that it drooped gracefully, and 
taking me in her arms, crept softly to the street. 

She did not know the city as well as Rachel did, 
but she had marked the way we came, and took a 
pretty straight course up Queen Street to the broad 
Spring Garden Road. She had a little rheumatism 
and hipped a bit when she walked, but she got over the 
ground fairly fast for a woman of her age, and only 
groaned occasionally when we came to the crossings. 

The streets were very quiet, and we met only a few 
persons and one policeman, who stared at us curiously, 
but said nothing. Halifax County has more colored 
people than any other part of the province, so the 
citizens are well used to their comings and goings. 

When we arrived at the court-house, which was dark 
and solitary, Nonnie put her head on one side and 
listened. Not a soul was near, and leaving the side¬ 
walk, she stole in to the high wall behind it. There 
was a gate in the wall with a bell hung high above it 
like the one in the beautiful story of “The Bell of Atri,” 
where a faithful horse, discarded by his heartless 
knight of a master, went to ring the bell of justice and 
thereby summoned the populace to right his wrongs. 

Nonnie didn’t dare to touch the bell, so she skirted 


212 




A Visit to the County Jail 


213 


the prison wall, and as she walked, she ran her fingers 
over it carefully to find out if it were possible for me 
to get a foothold. 

“Try it yourself, Jimmy,” she said. “Nonnie can’t 
tell.” 

It wasn’t an ideal wall to climb, but I was willing 
to make the attempt, and I jabbered this information 
to her. 

She nodded her head, and pinning up my long- 
trained dress, left me in my little baby’s underwear. 
Then pulling out of her pocket, which was as deep as 
a well, a kind of diminutive pack saddle, she bound it 
on my back. 

It was too tight round the waist and made me grunt, 
but I didn’t complain. I was probably more com¬ 
fortable than my master in his prison cell, and I looked 
at her expectantly, wondering why she didn’t give me 
a push up. 

The good old thing was down on her knees, and 
I could hear her murmur, “Lord forgive Nonnie for 
breaking de laws of dis fine country, but I jus’ mus’ 
send some goodies to my boy. Dose odder children 
am a-stuffin’ demselves, an’ Nonnie can’t let his dear 
mouf go on a-waterin’. Amen.” 

Then she got up and gave me a good send-off with 
her stiff old fingers. I thought I should never get to 
the top of that wall. There was so little to cling to. 
Not one good projection, even for a monkey. For a 
man it would have been an impossible wall. Finally, 
however, by digging my nails in hard, I reached the 
top and sat there panting and staring down at Nonnie, 
who was throwing me kisses. 

The next thing was how to communicate with my 
master. Nonnie had not given me one single direction. 
He was probably in one of the cells confronting me, 














































































































A Visit to the County Jail 


215 


but there was a long gap between the wall and the 
prison. I could never leap it, as I think Nonnie had 
hoped I would be able to do, so I sat and considered; 
and presently I heard from Nonnie the low, sweet call 
of the owl that she used in communicating with our 
master. 

I wished that I could imitate her, but I was not as 
clever as Polly in making sounds, so I held my tongue 
and sat still. 

I don’t know why I fixed my attention on one par¬ 
ticular window, but I did, and presently, like a flash 
of light, a white face appeared between the bars and 
a low, almost inaudible cooing note was heard. 

There he was, and the top of that old wall was not 
too narrow for me to indulge in a few handsprings. 
Then I stood up, and thought I heard a faint chuckle 
borne to me on the night wind from the cell window. 

I fancy I was a sight to make even a condemned man 
grin. I must have presented the appearance of a hump¬ 
backed baby with unnaturally long legs and arms, and 
his dress all bound up round his waist. I did not dare 
take off my bonnet, though I threw back my veil, for 
Nonnie had whispered that a guard would never kill 
a baby, but he might shoot at a monkey, so I stood 
there and had a little jubilation of my own to let 
Master Nappy get used to the sight of me. Then, 
knowing the time was passing, I took off my pack, 
laid it on the wall, and began to examine the good 
things in it. I knew now just how to get these small 
parcels to our boy, but what should I start with ? Some 
figs smelt nice and made a good heavy bundle, so I bal¬ 
anced them in my hands and pretended that I was going 
to play ball with my master as in days gone by. 

I saw those two dear hands come out from behind 
the bars, and I tossed the figs. 




2 l6 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


He caught them, and I felt what an effort he was 
making not to call, “Good boy, Jimmy!” 

Next I hurled some raisins, then dates stuffed with 
walnuts, and then, sad to say, there came an inter¬ 
ruption. A sleepy-looking guard sauntered out into 
the court-yard below me, and as bad luck would have 
it, glanced up at the wall. 

As quick as a flash I prostrated myself, but I made 
a kind of hump, so seeing his hand go to his hip pocket, 
I stood up and threw a kiss to him. 

He said a number of things which it is not important 
to repeat, and rubbed his eyes as if he were having a 
nightmare; then he disappeared inside. 

Not wishing to drag Nonnie into anything disagree¬ 
able, I stayed where I was, but took the precaution of 
leaning over and grunting loudly and excitedly to her, 
and waving my hand toward the street. She would 
know that meant danger, and I hoped she would hide 
herself. 

When I saw her waddle toward the road, I stood 
up, and rapidly unpinning my baby dress, let it hang 
gracefully over the wall in the direction of the jail 
yard. 

Presently guard number one came out with guard 
number two, who was hastily pulling on some clothes. 

“By jimini crickets!” said the first man, “the baby 
has gone and dressed itself since I went in. Look at 
that white frock over the wall. Can you beat it? 
Who would go and perch an infant there at this time 
of night?” 

“Well, Jack,” said the other man, “I made sure 
you’d got the jiggers when you come in with that tall 
story, but I guess you’re all right. Now the thing is 
to get a ladder up there and bring the kid down, and 
be mighty careful not to drop it. I wish I had the 





A Visit to the County Jail 


2i 7 


head of the brute who put it there under my arm. 
He’d get one punch!” 

I kept perfectly quiet, knowing that my master was 
watching me with anxiety. The men got a ladder, and 
one held it while the other climbed up and took me 
tenderly in his arms. 

I slipped my black hands under my dress, but took 
care to hold on to my pack saddle to soften the blow of 
the discovery that would be made when we reached 
earth. It was fortunate that I did so, for when guard 
number one handed me to guard number two as gently 
as if I had been made of thistledown, and guard 
number two pulled aside my veil to look at my face, 
he gave a great yell, struck me over the pack saddle, 
and dropped me. 

Then he began to chase me, and I did have a time 
galloping round the prison yard, holding up my train 
and trying to dodge the angry man. 

The other one at last caught hold of him and said, 
“Shut up! You’ll wake the warden”; but he had 
already done so, and a third man arrived in still more 
scanty clothing than the second one, and said in a 
stern voice, “What does this mean?” 

By this time the second guard was having hysterics 
and reeled against the wall, so weak that he could not 
speak. The warden stared at me, and as I always 
like to deal with principals, I held aside my train, 
wheeled up before him, and presented him with a 
package of spruce gum that came off the nice Nova 
Scotian trees and was supposed to be very good for 
my Master’s indigestion. 

He would not take it from me, so I offered it to the 
other man, who also scorned it. They were afraid it 
might go off in some way, and indeed I have 
heard some people in the country chewing great 




218 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


wads of it and making quite a loud sound in their 
mouths. 

When the two men gave a report of the affair to 
their chief, he looked a very puzzled man. 

In the midst of their discussion, I heard a childish 
voice, “Granddaddy, is it a monkey? Please let me 
see it.” 

The warden looked up. It seems that his grand¬ 
child was visiting him and had been waked up by the 
noise and was staring out of a window in the warden’s 
apartment. 

“Do let me see the monkey,” went on the little voice, 
and the warden said gruffly, “Give me the creature, 
and you, Brixton, go outside, examine all round about, 
and see if there is anyone skulking. You, Simons, 
patrol the yard the rest of the night. You will be 
relieved two hours earlier than usual.” 

The warden then took me in his arms quite nicely 
and went in to his own rooms. Such a dear small boy 
was there in his pyjamas, and he squealed with delight 
when I began to play with him. I knew I must do 
everything to please the warden so he would not watch 
me when I tried to get away. 

I amused the child excessively by stripping off my 
clothes and presenting them to him. They had served 
their purpose, and it was best for me to get rid of 
them. Next I pretended to be sleepy, and getting in 
his little crib, I lay down and watched his mother. 

The warden, after giving me to her, had hurried out 
to the street to see if he could find out any reason 
why someone had dressed up a monkey and sent it to 
the top of the prison wall. 

After a time, the mother, seeing that her boy had 
fallen asleep with his arm around me, and that I 
seemed perfectly contented, looked hesitatingly at the 




A Visit to the County Jail 


219 


window her father had told her not to open lest I 
should escape. 

“The creature is sleeping heavily,” I heard her say, 
“and he seems to have taken a fancy to my Bobbie, 
I think I will risk it. We must have fresh air,” and 
she opened the window a crack. 

Alas! poor mother—monkey was fooling you; and 
as soon as I saw that she stopped nestling her head 
about the pillow, and went to sleep herself, I sneaked 
from under the boy’s arm and went to the window. 
It was child’s play for my muscular arms to open it 
farther, and I crawled out to freedom. 

What should I do next? I hesitated a bit on the 
window-sill. By staying in the prison I might have a 
chance to see my master, but what about his faithful 
nurse? What would she have to face if she went 
home without me? So I said to myself, “Hey ho! 
for Nonnie,” and down the window ledges I went 
until I reached the street. 

Where would the good old soul be? Waiting for 
me under cover, of course, and I made a bee-line for 
the small park across the street. 

There she was sitting on a bench under the trees, 
mourning and lamenting, but quietly for fear of rous¬ 
ing some prowling policeman. 

She caught me to her and blessed me and called me 
her lamb; then at last said, “You an’ me has to make 
tracks for de fold. If de family wakes, dey’ll think 
someone has stole their precious monkey and Nonnie 
has gone after him. We was mos’ caught, honey. 
Nonnie jus’ shook when she watched you a-throwin’ 
of dem passels. Gracious knows what you done wid 
your baby does, but it’s all right. Come along home.” 

I wouldn’t let her carry me, but trotted along soberly 
beside her, a very thoughtful monkey, holding on to 




220 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

her dress and hiding myself in its folds if we met any 
belated wanderer. 

We went to bed that night a thankful pair, but 
trembled the next morning when at the breakfast 
table, Dr. Sandys read to the children from the news¬ 
paper, “Extraordinary occurrence at the County Jail. 
A monkey found at midnight prancing on the wall. 
Captured by jail attendants, made its escape. Informa¬ 
tion desired as to the perpetrators of this joke on 
jail authorities. Probably as usual some of the sailors 
in port responsible for trick.” 

Nonnie was out in the hall just coming in from the 
kitchen with a plate of hot cakes. She stopped and 
listened. “Sailors!” she gurgled under her breath. 
“No, sir! Jes’ a lovin’ ole darkey an’ her monkey.” 

Then she stiffened with dismay. Polly was actually 
having the audacity to shout “Hooray!” 

Dr. Sandys stared at her over the top of his paper. 
Really that man was unnaturally clever about animals. 
I gave Polly an awful look, and Nonnie hurried in 
with her hot cakes and said in too sweet a voice, 
“Have a gem, Docta?” 

The Doctor now gave her a look, but was diverted 
by a prolonged screech from Polly, “Over the garden 
wall!” 

Now the Doctor began to smile, and we knew he 
thought that Polly had been caught by the word 
“Wall.” 

“You little wretch!” I said to her afterward. 
“You are more mischievous than a young orang¬ 
utan !” 

“Oh! Jimmy!” she said feelingly, “if you knew 
what I suffered last night while you were on that 
dreadful expedition! You are not half so fond of me 
as I am of you.” 




221 


A Visit to the County Jail 

“I am fond of you,” I said, “and interested in you, 
too. I wish you would brace up about going out. 
You seem afraid of your own shadow.” 

“Not my shadow, Jimmy—the cats. There’s such 
an army of them—cats, long and lean, and thin and 
poor. They frighten me to death with their hungry 
eyes. I wish you would drive them away.” 

“I have waved my arms at them,” I said, “but 
they don’t pay any attention to me. I can’t be too 
hard on cats, Polly. If ships’ captains did not carry 
them, and rats ate the cargoes, anyone losing money 
could come right down on the owner of the vessel and 
make him pay damages.” 

“Well,” said Polly, “they may be useful at sea, but 
they’re no good on land.” 

“Aren’t they?” I said. “You admire the wonder¬ 
ful American country where the Sandys family used 
to live, and that Government pays large sums annually 
for the up-keep of cats in Government offices to keep 
down the mice, who would destroy the mail. Don’t 
criticise cats before me, Polly. I won’t stand it. I 
am a monkey that has received much kindness from 
them on shipboard, there they were sometimes my 
only playmates, and I am about the size of a small 
cat myself.” 

“One cat I love,” said Polly, “and that’s Clumpus. 
Not a cat in Downton dared to look cross-eyed at me 
when he was about. Pussy, dear Pussy, come here,” 
and she began to cry for her friend, and kept it up so 
persistently for days that at last Mrs. Sandys said, 
“I believe I shall have to send for that cat. Benjie 
and Polly are both inconsolable”—and then a beauti¬ 
ful thing happened. 




Chapter XXIV 


A New MacHadra 


The front door opened, and Dr. Dick walked in with 
a basket in his hand, and when he opened it, Clumpus 
stepped out. 

What a shouting there was, for the children, who 
went to a school near-by, had just come in for their 
noonday dinner. Benjie sprang at Clumpus, and 
choked him so tightly that the tired cat mewed angrily, 
and Mrs. Sandys had to come to his rescue. 

“That’s a great cat,” said Dr. Dick in his funny 
way. “Talk about Mariana in her moated grange 
with her, Tm aweary, aweary, I would that I were 
dead.’ Clumpus can beat her hollow. He cater¬ 
wauled night and day till he nearly drove my mother 
crazy, so here he is, and kindly keep him till you all 
come back to Downton.” 

“I am glad you are so thoughtful about cats,” said 
Mrs. Sandys comfortably. “We will get you to take 
some home with you. You know there is a great 
dearth of pussies up on the North Mountain.” 

Dr. Dick began to stagger about the room, and made 
the children laugh, but finally Mrs. Sandys took him 
out in the back-yard where she introduced him to the 
neighborhood cats. She had a plate of bread and 
milk in her hand, and they all came running, for they 
were used to being fed by her. 

Dr. Dick made them a speech, and spoke feelingly 
of the benefits of country air, and the service they 
would do the farmers in catching the naughty field 
mice who girdled the fruit trees in the winter time. 


222 




A New MacHadra 


223 


The cats listened attentively and understood him 
perfectly, for Polly, who was exceedingly interested, 
sat on his shoulder and translated everything he said 
into beautiful cat language. 

The upshot of it was, that the next day, Mrs. 
Sandys coaxed two dozen pussies into a crate, and Dr. 
Dick escorted them to the country, where they lived 
happily ever after, and had some nice fat kittens. 

“Come on, Polly,” I said, after he had left for the 
train with his box of cats beside him, “come on for a 
walk. Where shall we go?” 

“I am not bold like you,” she said, “I don’t dare 
to run up and down the sidewalks, and climb in the 
trees. Let’s go call on the Wiltshires.” 

“I’ll show you the best way to get there,” I said, 
“fly after me,” and I scrambled out our sitting-room 
window and went via the Virginia creeper on the back 
of the house to the Wiltshires’ parlor. I heard voices 
there, and knew Mrs. Wiltshire had a caller. 

She had, but she seemed glad to see us coming, and 
getting up, spread a newspaper on a table, and brought 
some cookies to lay on it. 

When she sat down again, her caller, whose name 
was Mrs. Herson, went on telling about a rich woman 
in the city who had just given a large sum of money 
to the Navy League, and I listened, little dreaming 
what an influence this friend to sailors was to have on 
the lives of my master and his sister. 

“Who is this wonderful Miss Macadder?” asked 
Polly as she wiped her beak on my hairy back, as she 
had a somewhat trying habit of doing. 

“A rich woman who brings handsome presents to 
Mrs. Wiltshire,” I said, and I looked out the window 
where a nice, thin old maid with a back like a poker sat 
up straight and stiff in her shiny little brougham. 




2'2 4 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


She had an old coachman and an old footman, and 
the footman came sauntering up to the door to find 
out whether Mrs. Wiltshire was at home. 

Mrs. Wiltshire’s trim maid said that she was, and 
soon Miss Macadder came rustling in. 

Polly said, “I am glad some persons are still wearing 
silk. I like the sound of it. It’s nice to see some 
elegance on this street, Jimmy. We’re pretty plain.” 

“I love rich people, too,” I said, “they’re usually 
so clean,” and I gazed admiringly at Miss Macadder, 
who sat with her head in the air, staring through her 
shining glasses, not that she was proud, but only 
short-sighted. 

“I am glad to find you at home, Mrs. Wiltshire,” 
she said, “and also to have a glimpse of Mrs. 
Herson.” 

She did not say this boldly, but in a nice self-con¬ 
fident way, and her voice was sweet and pitched low 
like the voices of most Nova Scotian women. 

When Mrs. Herson went away, Miss Macadder 
turned to Polly and me, and Mrs. Wiltshire said, 
“These are the pets of the Sandys children, though 
I suppose Rachel MacHadra is supposed to own the 
monkey.” 

“A MacHadra here!” said Miss Macadder,” Why, 
I did not know there was one in Nova Scotia. My 
name was originally MacHadra, and my family came 
from the Highlands of Scotland, but the careless 
Nova Scotians, who have a habit of changing names, 
made it Macadder. Who is this Rachel MacHadra?” 

“Don’t you remember my telling you about my 
neighbors, and why they came to the city?” asked 
Mrs. Wiltshire. 

“Certainly I do—they are the next door people— 
but who is Rachel?” 




A New MacHadra 


225 


“The niece who lives with them. It is her brother 
who is in prison.” 

“A MacHadra in prison?” said Miss Macadder, and 
she looked shocked. “We must do something about 
that.” 

“She's the right sort,” I whispered to Polly. 

“Isn’t she?” said Polly, swallowing her last cookie 
crumb. “Not every woman would say she belonged 
to a family in trouble.” 

I jumped down from the table, ran to Miss Mac- 
adder, and fingered her black silk dress. Oh! if she 
would only help to get my dear master out of prison. 

“You would think the little creature understood 
us,” she said, glancing kindly at us. 

“Perhaps he does,” breathed Mrs. Wiltshire, who 
was a timid woman. 

I started jabbering and gesticulating, and Polly, 
giving words to my emotion, gabbled, “Heaven bless 
our home. Keep the family together. United we 
stand, divided we fall. Who threatens a MacHadra 
threatens the clan!” 

Miss Macadder was too old to let herself go when 
she laughed, but she showed her strong though rather 
crooked white teeth in a very humorous smile. 

I did a frisky joy dance for her. This was what I 
liked—to have rich old ladies take an interest in 
my master, then I went to sit at her feet, and sighed 
softly. 

“A gay Lothario,” she said waggishly, and though 
I did not know what she meant, I guessed that she 
approved of me. 

“Will you tell me some more about the boy?” she 
asked, turning to Mrs. Wiltshire. 

“His trial is just about beginning,” said her hostess, 
and I pricked up my ears, for all that I knew about 




226 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Master Nappy now was what I gathered from other 
people. 

‘Til go to see him, but you keeps away till he is 
sont to de penitentiary,” Nonnie told me. “Don’t 
you go foolin’ round dat jail. Some old guard might 
rekernize you and blame your sainty master. You 
hide if anyone speaks of takin’ you to call on him.” 

Mrs. Wiltshire went on to tell Miss Macadder about 
the strange state my master was in. “When he heard 
that he had become head of the clan, he seemed to turn 
to stone,” she said. “No one can do anything with 
him, and he scarcely eats enough to keep himself 
alive.” 

“How do they explain that?” asked Miss Mac- 
adder. 

“Dr. Sandys says that the lad was chagrined and 
mortified beyond description because he was caught, 
and when he heard how unnecessary his crime had 
been, and that he might have occupied a place of 
honor in the world, instead of being shut up in a 
prison cell, the shock seemed to freeze him.” 

“And what is going to be the end of it?” said Miss 
Macadder. “Oh! what is going to be the end?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Wiltshire, “the Sandyses 
are terribly discouraged. They have sent for the 
grandparents.” 

Polly and I already knew this and we were quite 
excited about it; however, we went on listening to 
Miss Macadder who was saying thoughtfully, “His 
state of mind looks to me like the beginning of better 
things. The iron must have entered into his very 
soul.” 

“But he is losing his health,” said Mrs. Wiltshire 
sadly. 

Miss Macadder suddenly got up, and swishing her 




A New MacHadra 


227 


black dress behind her, walked up and down the room 
just like a man. “Here we sit in this comfortable 
room, you and I,” she said, “but suddenly I revert 
to the primitive and steal your watch. You invoke 
the strong arm of the law, which thrusts me behind 
bars, where I am treated like a dangerous wild beast. 
Am I not the same woman? Can’t I eat, and drink, 
and sleep and enjoy and suffer? I am only different 
in the particular of the watch from what I was before, 
and yet I am treated as if I differed in every part of 
my whole being.” 

“But you have become a thief. You are kicking 
against the pricks of society,” said Mrs. Wiltshire 
softly, and motioning the maid, Bettie, who entered 
with the tea, to take our table from us and put the 
tray on it. 

Polly and I went to sit on the hearth-rug, and I 
cuddled Polly, and played with my toes as I have a 
trick of doing when I am very much pleased. 

“Won’t you have some tea?” said Mrs. Wiltshire 
gently. “This comes direct from Hong-Kong. A 
grateful Chinaman who attends our church brought it 
to me.” 

“And what did you do for him?” asked Miss 
Macadder with a sudden smile. 

“Just took him a little beef broth when he was 
ill—but what a box of big-leaved tea he did send 
me.” 

“You can’t get ahead of a Chinaman,” said Miss 
Macadder. “No sugar, please. But to come back to 
our prisons. I believe we have as good prisons in 
Canada as they have anywhere. Our parole system 
is better, but the penitentiaries are all wrong.” 

“They are beginning to have jail farms in some 
places,” said Mrs. Wiltshire. 




228 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“That’s my idea of punishment,” said Miss Mac- 
adder. “Strict discipline, but outdoor life. Brood¬ 
ing is pernicious for children. We must keep them 
occupied every minute, and if pernicious for children, 
why not for criminals, who are usually undeveloped? 
That MacHadra boy has never grown up. Can we 
improve him by shutting him up in a dark, damp 
place? No, give him a hoe and let his badness flow 
out of him by the sweat of his brow. ‘Perspiration 
is inspiration,’ that clever man Edison says.” 

I hugged Polly so hard that she gave me a good 
bite, so I went to sit by this darling Miss Macadder 
and picked up every crumb she let fall. 

She pretended not to see me, but she did, and after 
she had drunk three cups of tea in an absent-minded 
way, she threw up her head. “Mrs. Wiltshire, I have 
about finished my work for sailors, now quick march 
for the souls in prison,” and in her excitement she got 
up, and her tea-cup slipped to the floor and broke, and 
Mrs. Wiltshire grew red, for it was a Royal Worcester, 
and worth three dollars and a half, but like a lady she 
never said a word, and even tried to smile as she 
watched me hide the pieces under the hearth-rug. 

What was a tea-cup to the work that good Miss 
Macadder began that day! However, I must not 
overleap my story, but tell what happened next. 

Miss Macadder asked Mrs. Wiltshire to take her 
next door and introduce her to Mrs. Sandys, and 
Polly and I went hurrying after them. 

Mrs. Sandys didn’t hear us coming, and through 
the open door of our own parlor we heard her saying 
to Rachel, “Now kiss auntie and run away to play, 
and please do not go to any more funerals without 
asking permission.” 

Miss Macadder gave Rachel a long look as the child 




A New MacHadra 


229 


stood back politely to let the older woman pass. I 
was glad that Rachel was holding her head down, for 
she looked prettier in that position. 

Mrs. Sandys was delighted to see Miss Macadder, 
of whom she had often heard. It seems our nice old 
maid was famed all through the Province for her good 
works. 

“Could you hear what I was saying to Rachel ?” 
Mrs. Sandys asked Mrs. Wiltshire. 

“I caught the word funeral,” said her friend, and 
then Mrs. Sandys said, “Our Rachel is a constant 
surprise. Her latest exploit is taking the children 
to all the houses of affliction in this end of the city. 
Wherever she sees a crape on a door she rings the 
bell and asks whether she may view the corpse.” 

“She is full of sympathy,” said Mrs. Wiltshire 
indulgently. 

“But this sympathy is taking it out of her,” said 
Mrs. Sandys. “She cries bitterly over these people 
that she has never seen until she has her first and only 
look as they lie in their coffins. It’s morbid. I found 
her out through Ollie talking in his sleep. He’s a 
pretty solid boy where nerves are concerned, but I 
discovered him crying out to the Almighty to spare, 
especially the children of the city, for there were too 
many dying.” 

“Sounds like a high death rate,” said Miss Macadder 
grimly, “which we haven’t got in this wholesome 
town.” 

“Well,” Mrs. Sandys went on, “I’ve forbidden the 
house calls on persons in affliction and the funerals. 
She begged so hard for the weddings that I hadn’t the 
heart to refuse her.” 

“We have some very pretty little weddings down 
in St. Luke’s,” said Miss Macadder, and then she went 




230 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


on to ask some questions about Rachel, to whom she 
seemed to have taken a great fancy. 

From Rachel she naturally slipped to my master, 
and said she was glad to hear that Grandfather was 
coming to see him, for he had been a great friend to 
her father, and she would like to talk to him about 
doing something for the men and women in prison. 




Chapter XXV 

Nonnie Falls into Disgrace with our Master 

Dr. and Mrs. Sandys were the first ones to go to 
see my master, and Rachel and Nonnie went on the 
fourth day after our arrival in the city. 

Nonnie gave me an account of her visit the same 
night after we went up to our attic bedroom. 

“Monkey,” she said, “dere’s awful force in minds. 
Dat boy’s in what his uncle calls de stone age, but 
when he feels all de strength of de good Sandys’ wills, 
an’ de might of de kin’ wishes of de Valley folk like de 
Skinners, an’ de Websters, an’ Parkers, an’ Marsters, 
an’ de Eatons, an’ all de odder friends of Miss Jenny, 
an’ sot up on top of dat de flood waters of de thoughts 
of de seafarin’ Kemptons, an’ Fords, an’ Freemans, 
an’ Tuppers, an’ Mortons of Rossignol—why, how can 
one lone boy prop up his little weenty mind again all 
dat? Tell me now, Monkey?” 

I couldn’t tell her. I had been long enough with 
all these clever human beings by this time to know 
that I was only an ignorant little animal, but I had 
met these people that Nonnie spoke of, and something 
told me that if they all set their minds on doing a 
thing, it was likely to be done. 

“Dat dear boy got mad wid me,” Nonnie went on. 
“I tole him, I did, ‘Boy of Nonnie’s heart, khe’s 
a-prayin’ all de time for you,’ an’ he turns on me, he 
did, an’ says, ‘You stop dat,’ an’ as he stood dere in 
dat cell, his young face was proud as dat wicked ole 
Lucifer, son of de mornin’. 

231 




232 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“ ‘Sonny,’ I said, ‘Nonnie’s been to de minister of 
de two colored chu’ches here, an’ every darkey in dose 
two congregations is a-goin’ to pray for Nonnie’s boy 
every day at noon when dat gun dat fires all over de 
British places rolls out dat awful sound like de las’ 
trump.’ ” 

I knew what Nonnie meant by the twelve o’clock 
gun, or rather cannon, for in travelling about the 
world I had heard it in every place that flew the British 
flag, and had a British garrison. This old city was 
full of sailors and soldiers, and in addition to the noon 
and half-past nine o’clock gun, we had one from the 
admiral’s ship in the harbor. 

The citadel gun here was so powerful that it often 
broke the china in houses near by, but the Halifax 
people were so loyal that they never complained. 

Nonnie went on to tell me of Master Nappy’s 
further wrath when she said to him, “An’ when 
dat ole gun fires, de Salvation Army, which is 
nex’ best to my own blessed Baptis’ chu’ch, is 
under bonds to put up a rousin’ petition for our 
darlin’ boy.” 

I could imagine his wrath, and Polly, who had fol¬ 
lowed Nonnie to bed just to learn her impressions of 
the jail, gurgled in her throat the last sentence the 
children had taught her, “Scotland’s burning, Ire¬ 
land’s on fire, and England’s lighting up!” 

Nonnie turned to her and said, “You hush, Miss 
Polly. I has reasons for thinkin’ you ain’t serious 
about what I calls de mysteries an’ sacrednesses. 
Monkey here is solemn like an owl. You go to your 
own roost!” and she chased her downstairs, and went 
on talking to me. 

“I’se in awful disgrace wid our master, little boy, 
an’ I’se a-forbidden to go a-near him till he gives me 




Nonnie Falls into Disgrace with our Master 233 

leave. ‘All right, my own one,’ I says to him, ‘Non- 
nie’ll do jus’ what you says, but you can’t bar out her 
thoughts. Mos’ every minute of de day dey’ll scale 
dese brick walls, an’ you’ll feel your Nonnie near. 
She’ll have her hands out a-blessin’ her boy an’ sayin’ 
dat she knows de time will come when he’ll be settin’ 
about some honest work.’ Nonnie never went agin 
her boy before. She’s been too took up wid his fine 
qualities, but she’s got a fright. Her boy’s ole enough 
to set about some business. Dese wild oats has jus’ 
got to be rooted up.” 

She stopped here to cry a little bit, but not much, 
for she was soon smiling. “Monkey, I wish you could 
a-seen dat dear one wid his fisties clenched, a-standin’ 
over Nonnie jus’ as if he’d like to strike her. 

“ ‘Hit Nonnie, darlin’ boy,’ says I as meek as a 
lamb. ‘If it’ll do you any manner of good, Nonnie 
don’t care,’ but at dat he draws off an’ says, ‘You go 
right out of this buildin’, an’ don’t you come near me 
agin,’ an’ he stood in de corner of dat cell an’ folded 
his arms an’ never spoke, an’ I goes out, but I calls 
back, ‘Remember, boy, dat twelve o’clock gun!’ ” 

I felt terribly to think that there had been a breach 
between my master and his faithful old nurse, but 
Dr. Sandys, to whom Nonnie told her story the next 
day when he came home to dinner from his work in 
the Government Hospital, was not at all cast down. 

He loved new things, and taking out his pencil wrote 
down just what Nonnie had said. 

“You are a good old soul,” he murmured when he 
put his notebook in his pocket, and pulling out his 
purse that had not much in it—for I peeped over his 
shoulder—he gave her some paper money and said he 
wished her to buy a new gown for herself. 

Nonnie took it reluctantly, and instead of buying 




23 4 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


the gown, said to me as she tucked it between her 
straw bed and feather bed—for Mrs. Sandys could not 
get her to use a mattress—“Jimmy, y° u an’ I takes 
dis for our Timothy hunt.” 

I danced for joy. The good old soul had remem¬ 
bered my dumb play about her brother, and now she 
was going to look for him. 

“ ’Cause,” she went on, “somethin’ tells Nonnie dat 
he’s makin’ for de shores of Novy Scoshy, an’ if so, 
why not come into de bes’ harbor we’s got ?” 

So the very next day we began our Timothy quest, 
and it served to keep her mind off our master. She 
wasn’t exactly troubled, for she looked upon all these 
happenings as steps up the staircase of reform, but 
she talked a great deal to herself about him, and when¬ 
ever any of the family went to see him, it was an 
understood thing that they all reported to Nonnie how 
he looked, what he said, and whether he was eating 
any better. 

They all knew that when he went to the Penitentiary 
they would not be able to see him so often, so they 
made as many visits now as they could. Dr. Sandys 
took pains to be with him sometimes when that gun of 
Nonnie’s fired, and I heard him telling his wife that 
the boy always grew uneasy and looked wildly about 
him when the heavy sound shook the prison walls. 

“He is coming out of his shell,” said the Doctor, 
and then on the top of that he really did partly break 
down under a visit from Grandmother. 

The dear old lady had been ill over his case, and 
Grandfather had had to wait for her. When they did 
come to the city, they stayed with Miss Macadder, in 
her fine house down near the park, as she insisted on 
entertaining them. 

The Doctor laughed about it and said to his wife, 




Nonnie Falls into Disgrace with our Master 235 

“Another chicken come home to roost,” for it seemed 
that when Miss Macadder’s late father went to Ros- 
signol as a young man, Grandfather befriended him 
and sent him to big coal mines in the Scottish part 
of Nova Scotia. Grandfather had quite an interest in 
mines in those days, and Mr. Macadder had made 
a fortune and had come to the capital city of the 
Province to spend it, and now his daughter was prov¬ 
ing a friend to his old friend. 

She had really become intensely interested in my 
young master and often had Rachel with her. In the 
privacy of our parlor, she gave Nonnie an account of 
her first visit to the jail, and Nonnie laughed and 
cried at the same time at the picture Miss Macadder 
drew of the proud boy standing in the corner of his 
cell, trying to act like a gentleman, and yet glaring 
at the venturesome elderly woman who said she had 
come to pay her respects to him as the head of her 
family. 

“I don’t know that I did him any good,” said Miss 
Macadder in her stiff way. 

“Yes, ma’am, you did good. I feels it,” said 
Nonnie. “Dat’s what he needs—to set hisself up a 
bit. He’s all down in de mud. He thinks he’ll never 
be no more good. You was a real lady to go. If 
every boy what’s in jail had de friends like our boy, 
de prison doors would soon fly open an’ dere’d be 
no one inside. We wills de boys in, an’ we wills dem 
out.” 

However, to come back to Grandmother—our boy 
knew that she had been ill, and he also knew that it 
was worry about him that had brought on her illness, 
so when she came to see him, very weak and trembling 
and leaning on Grandfather’s arm, there was a rather 
touching scene. 




236 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Mrs. Sandys stood outside in the corridor, and I 
listened when she told her husband that she had never 
been so proud of her mother in her life. She said 
that poor old Grandfather, who was terrified that the 
shock of seeing her own daughter’s child in a prison 
might kill her, sat staring at her nervously from one 
of the two chairs that the warden had had put in the 
cell for the two old people. 

Grandmother held up her head like a lady, and 
instead of crying over Master Nappy, made various 
polite inquiries about his health after she had kissed 
him affectionately. Then she got him to promise to 
eat more, and discussed the weather; but just before 
she left she asked whether she might sing to him a 
verse of the old song that she used to put his mother 
to sleep with when she was a baby. 

Mrs. Sandys said she peeped in and saw Master 
Nappy bow his head, for he could not speak, and then 
Grandmother began in her sweet cracked voice, with 
its many curlicues: 

‘‘Dear bower, I must leave you and bid you adieu, 

And pay my devotions to friends that are new; 

Oh! well knowing my Savior resides everywhere. 

And can in all places give answer to prayer, 

Give answer to prayer.” 

“A bower!” Mrs. Sandys said. “Of all things to 
sing about!” 

But it did the boy good, for he braced up and said, 
“I thank you for coming, Grandmother. Nothing that 
has happened has made me feel so sorry for giving 

you all so much trouble. I hope-” then he broke 

down and turned his poor face to the wall. Grand¬ 
father crept out of the room, and Grandmother went 
up and put her feeble arm round the dear child of her 




Nonnie Falls into Disgrace with our Master 237 


dear child, and Mrs. Sandys stopped looking, and no 
one ever knew what the old lady said, but the boy was 
better from that day and began to eat his food. 

However, he still had a grudge against Nonnie for 
the gun business, and did not send for her until after 
he went to the Penitentiary; so I will go on and tell 
what she did for Timothy while she was waiting for 
him to thaw. 






Chapter XXVI 


The Timothy Quest 


Nonnie just haunted the water-front, which was the 
most fascinating of any that I had ever seen. The 
city was so small, there were only about fifty thousand 
people in it at the time, though there are about seventy- 
five thousand now, that it didn’t take her long to get 
to the wharves. 

To her great surprise she was finding out that she 
could walk quite well here in the city. There was no 
Dancer to drive her about, and she hated to climb on 
the street cars, and the Doctor told her that it was 
the best thing for her rheumatism to walk, so nearly 
every afternoon when the dishes were washed she 
called to me to run upstairs and get her hat and cloak, 
and we set out. 

She carried me under the cloak till we got to the 
wharves, then she set me down, for I was an advertise¬ 
ment. When sailors stopped to admire me, she asked 
them about Timothy. Had they seen her brother, and 
then she would describe him—a little too favorably, 
I thought, but they could always recognize him by his 
lameness. 

The weather was mostly fine, and the wharves were 
sunny. Oh! what fun we had climbing on the ships— 
not the big passenger steamers—Nonnie kept away 
from them, for they always had men stationed to keep 
out persons who had no special errand on board, but 
the friendly fishing schooners and the freight boats 
from foreign parts. 

There was one Italian steamer in port for a long 
238 




The Timothy Quest 


239 


time, waiting her turn to get into the wonderful dry- 
dock farther up the harbor, and the sailors on it 
loved Nonnie, though they could not understand a 
word of what she said and she could not understand 
them. 

They knew the eating language, though, and she 
often went on board and ate their macaroni and 
cheese, and in turn made them Nova Scotian cakes 
and hot biscuits, while they stood praising her, and 
gesticulating, with broad smiles on their sunburnt 
faces. 

One day she started darning socks for them, and 
some of the sailors from the other ships hearing about 
it, got her to darn for them. They were clever enough 
at repairing their shirts and trousers, but they 
were very lumpy darners, and often sighed for their 
wives. 

Miss Macadder was so much pleased when she heard 
about the darning, and Nonnie’s other kindnesses to 
the sailors, that she made her a member of her Navy 
League, which is a very powerful organization in this 
city by the sea. 

No matter how much the sailors engrossed her, 
Nonnie never forgot our master, and while Miss 
Macadder and her powerful friends, aided by all the 
Sandyses, were harping away at a country prison for 
the Nova Scotian boys who had gone wrong, Nonnie 
was doing a remarkable work among the sailors and 
the people in the settlements and villages along 
the shore who came by boat to Halifax to do their 
shopping. 

“What about de boys in prison?” she would say. 
“S’pose you’se got a brudder dere. Does you want 
him in a Zoo?” 

The sensible Nova Scotians almost always said that 




240 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 

they believed in punishment for crime, even severe 
punishment, but it must have for object the reforming 
of the boys and men. Nothing that would make them 
feel more desperate should be done to them. 

Nova Scotia is a small province, having only a little 
over half a million of a population and a very friendly 
feeling prevails, for the people in one town are apt 
to know someone in the next. Then, being a restless 
people, they often travel from one place to another, 
and it is interesting to hear them talking of persons 
who live quite at the other end of the province whom 
they know quite well. 

So in one way and another, Nonnie began to have 
quite a reputation among the seafaring folk, but it 
was mostly among the handworkers, till she preached 
her famous though brief sermon on “Elbow 
Grease,” which raised her to speaking terms with 
the ship-owners and warehouse-men along the water¬ 
front. 

We were not on a ship that day, but on a pier 
watching the men put a mixed cargo on a coasting 
vessel. Nonnie sat on a pile of boards, and I frisked 
about, playing with anyone who had time to bother 
with me. At three o’clock the men had leave for half 
an hour, and a loafer began to speechify. 

He said he was a Communist, and believed in 
sharing everything with everybody. Nonnie sat and 
listened to him as long as she could, her eyes running 
over the brown faces of the young men listening to 
him, but finally she called out, “He’s had long enough 
shift, boys—give Mother Bunch de rest.” 

Now all these young fellows knew that Nonnie could 
make good doughnuts, but they did not know that 
she was a preacher, so their faces lighted up and they 
gave her a cheer. “Mother Bunch” was the general 




The Timothy Quest 


241 


nickname for her, except among the men-of-war sail¬ 
ors, who called every woman just plain “mother.” 

“Gimme a hand, lad,” she said to a boy in buttons 
who had run down from a near-by boat. “I wants to 
git to de top of dis here heap of boards.” 

“You’ll come a cropper, Mother Bunch,” an English 
steward shouted, but the stubborn old dear shook her 
head and began, “Fse a Nova Scoshun, an’ thank de 
Lord dis is de fust time I’ve ever heard tell o’ dis 
nonsense of men an’ women what ain’t eddicated to 

a thing runnin’ it. You-” and she turned to the 

Communist, “You pale-faced boy wid your dirty hands 
an’ face, look at all dese brownies here. Now what 
has your religion done for you in looks? Does you 
think you can make dese hard-headed boys think 
dat dey knows as much as captains an’ masters an’ 
mates? I tell you dey ain’t eddicated to it, an’ dey 
knows it. I’d not like to sail de boat you all would 
circumnavigate. 

“Does you know de sun an’ de moon an’ de stars? 
Of course you don’t. Now I’ll just tell you, Mister 
Foreigner, ’cause I notice you is speakin’ our language 
mighty bad, we Novy Scoshuns has a motto, an’ dat 
motto is de text of my sermon to dese lads. Dat 
text is ‘Elbow Grease,’ an’ you’ll hear it from one end 
of de province to de odder, whether it’s de French 
who says it, or de Highlanders an’ de Lowlanders in 
Cape Breton, or de English an’ Irish an’ de Welsh 
an’ de Americans in de Valley. I tell you dat we loves 
furriners here, but dey has to work hard afore we 
listens to dem, an’ your hands show you an’ work 
ain’t no brothers. Jus’ you heave dat log dere, if you 
please.” 

The poor sickly fellow tried to get out of this test, 
but the sailors and wharfmen pressed behind him, 

Q 





242 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


and he did try to lift the huge thing till Nonnie roared 
out, “Stop him! We don’t want to kill de stranger 
widin out gates. You po’ sick pill, you come home 
wid Nonnie. You is half starved, I can tell by your 
pulin’ face. What you wants is a good meal of meat 
vittles. Come along wid me an’ Monkey.” 

To encourage the angry man, who was whiter than 
ever with rage, I ran to him and took his hand, but he 
started to kick me until a young giant of a longshore¬ 
man who was a special pet of Nonnie’s gave him a 
hoist with his foot, whereupon he calmed down. 

Nonnie reasoned with him. “I can put you in a 
snug haven to rest. You is all beat out. I ain’t one 
to reason wid you. I’ll confront you wid your betters. 
You is jus’ a bit astray. Don’t you misunderstan’ 
me. I knows dere is rich what imposes on de poor, 
an’ I hates dem for it, but ain’t de men got votes 
to undercontrol dem? We ain’t goin’ to listen to no 
talk about de ignorapottamouses what don’t know 

nothin’, a-bossin’ de ones what does- Come along 

now.” 

He again resisted, but Nonnie, seeing that he was 
so weak that he could scarcely stand up, began to pet 
him, and the sailors cheering her escorted us up to 
Water Street, got a taxi, put him in it, paid the fare 
and sent us off in fine style. 

I wondered what Nonnie was going to do with him, 
but she looked as cool as a cucumber, so I thought I 
needn’t worry. 

When she got to Queen Street she took him by the 
arm, and conducted him up the lane to the old stable 
in the garden. 

“Does you see dose steps?” she said. “You go 
up dere an’ Nonnie’ll have de bes’ meal here in ten 
minutes dat you’se seen in a year. Mount up here 





The Timothy Quest 


243 


now- No, not in dat cow an’ horse part, up de 

stairs.” 

The young fellow slouched up the rough steps, and 
sat down on a broken chair, for I slipped up to peep 
at him, but he made an awful face at me, so I hurried 
in to Nonnie and watched her pile a tray full of lovely 
cold things to eat, and put on it a whole tea-pot of 
hot tea. 

Then, as the Doctor wasn’t home, she went to Mr. 
Wiltshire’s and asked him to go and talk to a poor 
sinner who didn’t know on which side his bread was 
buttered. 

Mr. Wiltshire, who like our Doctor was never sur¬ 
prised at anything, sauntered out to the stable, and 
soon I heard him talking and laughing with the 
stranger. It seemed he was a Russian and he was 
delighted to find that the minister, who knew many 
languages, could speak to him in his own tongue. 

The end of it was that the Russian was put in a 
room in the Wiltshires’ attic, and boarded with them 
for weeks. He was a great talker, and I used to think 
that the clergyman had much patience to stand his long 
speeches, but when he got some flesh on his bones Mr. 
Wiltshire put him to work at a very practical thing. 

The board fences in the neighborhood had worried 
Mrs. Sandys so much that she went round to all the 
neighbors, and got their permission to remove them 
and put low and almost invisible wire ones in their 
place. To the Russian fell the task of taking down 
the fences and splitting them up for kindling that he 
stored in the various cellars. 

He got well paid, and became such a handy man 
about the place that he did all the garden work, and in 
winter attended to the furnaces, and later on, when the 
Sandyses went back to Downton, he followed them, 





244 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


and finally married a Valley girl that Nonnie said 
“Bossed him like de mischief.” 

So that part of the Timothy quest ended well, but 
now for Timothy himself, and the queer way we found 
him. 

It seemed there was a friendly race every year be¬ 
tween American and Nova Scotian fishing schooners. 
There were beautiful boats in the fishing fleet of Nova 
Scotia, and the queen of them all was the Chebucto, 
that is the old Indian name of the harbor. 

One warm day Nonnie, who was very tired, fell 
asleep in the little cabin of the Chebucto, where the 
mate had sent her down to make herself a cup of tea. 
I blush to say that instead of keeping awake and watch¬ 
ing over my good friend, I followed her example, till 
I was aroused by a wild shriek from her, “My laws-a- 
massey—we’re on de move!” 

I sprang up, and sure enough through the porthole 
I could see the pretty houses at the south end of the 
city spinning by like moving pictures. 

Nonnie stumbled on deck, “Stop dis ship, Capt’in. 
Where’s de capt’in? I’se got to get ashore. I’se got 
bread a-settin’ behind de stove.” 

I can see the captain now, grinning from ear to ear. 
He was sorry for Nonnie, but he could not help being 
amused. “Do you think I’m running a ferry-boat?” 
he asked, and he pointed to his wonderful sails. 

“Oh! Capt’in, where is you a-goin’?” asked poor 
Nonnie. “I won’t stan’ for no ocean trip.” 

“Home to Eastern Passage,” said the captain. “It’s 
only a few hours’ run. Keep cool, and I’ll send you 
back in my buggy.” 

Nonnie at once calmed down, and began to giggle. 
Then she thought of Mrs. Sandys, and said, “Capt’in, 
can’t you wig-waggle Nonnie back to de city?” 




The Timothy Quest 


245 


Now he chuckled as he promised her that he would 
signal the first craft that we passed, and as the harbor 
was always dotted with sails and steam funnels he soon 
had a message on board the motor-boat Lunenburg, 
that Nonnie Francis sent a message to Mrs. Sandys, 
Queen Street, to look out for the bread behind the 
stove, for Nonnie was on a pleasure trip down the 
harbor. 

Now she set out to enjoy herself, and sat on deck 
like a queen with the captain’s young son, who hap¬ 
pened to be on board, explaining everything to her. 

“That there place,” he said, pointing behind the long 
green MacNab’s Island, “is where the Tallahassee crept 
out. Ever heard of the Tallahassee?” 

Nonnie with dignity informed him that she had been 
brought up in the country. 

“Well, you know about the American War between 
the North and the South,” said the boy. 

“I am an American citizen,” said Nonnie. “I comes 
slap out of Florida.” 

“Thunder!” said the lad; then he informed her that 
when the North was fighting the South, the Southern 
vessels used to run up to Halifax for supplies, and 
that one day the Tallahassee found herself blockaded 
in the harbor with two Northern cruisers watching her 
at the harbor mouth like two cats ready to pounce on 
an unfortunate mouse. 

“And what did mousie do?” asked Nonnie demurely, 
for she saw that the boy had some surprise in store 
for her. 

“See where we’re going,” said the boy. “This 
passage back of MacNab’s had only been used for 
small craft, but the captain of the Tallahassee he dared 
it, and he ran through and in the morning he wasn’t 
here.” 




246 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

“Glory be!” said Nonnie, then she added, “All hail 
to the Union!” 

“I guess you’re a Southerner fast enough,” said the 
boy. 

“I’se a Novy Scoshun now,” said Nonnie with 
dignity, “but I tells you, boy, you never forgits where 
you is born. Seems like de odder day I was a-sittin’ 
before my aunt’s cabin down on de awful sandy St. 
Augustine Road what leads out to de ole sugar plan¬ 
tation dat now is de Florida State Normal School for 
de colored people. A fine carriage come by, ’cause 
dere warn’t no autymobiles in dose days, an’ in it was 
two of de grandes’ folks de Lord ever made. Dey 
saw de poverty of de place an’ when dey was a-starin’ 
at us, I runned out an’ got under de horses’ feets. I 
wasn’t much hurt, but dey was so sorry, dose two 
good people, an’ dey took me to a doctor in St. Augus¬ 
tine, an’ I clung to dem an’ dey brung me North. My 
mudder was dead, an’ my aunt was poorer dan poverty, 
an’ I had only one brudder, dis Timothy, an’ he fol¬ 
lowed me up to Novy Scoshy in a short spell, then he 
sort of dropped off an’ run away to sea—dat’s why I 
has so much patience wid de runaways. You know 
I’se a-lookin’ for him?” 

“Yes,” the boy said he knew, and I stared at him 
thinking how strange it was that I should hear for 
the first time on this fishing schooner the details of 
Nonnie’s early life. 

Presently when we had slipped half-way through 
this lovely strait of water, he asked, “What sort of 
a looking chap was this brother of yours ?” 

Nonnie began, “Fairly straight, some grey grizzle in 
hair, dent in forehead, limps, but not as so you’d notice 
it much-” 

While she was speaking, the boy idly picked up the 





The Timothy Quest 


247 


captain’s big glasses that he had sent to amuse Nonnie, 
and looked through them at another green island we 
were passing. Some men were sauntering along the 
shore. The first ones were in very smart uniform, the 
last man was by himself, and I could not see plainly 
what he was like, but he did not carry himself like an 
officer. 

“Look through that,” said the boy suddenly, passing 
the glasses to Nonnie. 




Chapter XXVII 


Nonnie Finds her Timothy 


Nonnie glanced toward the shore which was now 
quite near, then she gave a shriek, dropped the binocu¬ 
lars, and began to beat a coil of rope with both hands. 

'Timothy, Timothy!” she screamed. 

"Upon my word,” I said to myself, “I believe that 
bent man skipping stones on the water is old Timothy. 
It certainly looks like him.” 

The captain in great concern ran to Nonnie. He 
thought she had a sudden pain, and sent below for 
brandy, for you could get it in those days, though the 
Nova Scotians won’t sell it now. 

"It’s my brother, Capt’in,” she shouted. “It’s my 
Timothy—can’t you hail him?” 

The captain put his hands to his mouth and bellowed 
like a bull, Timothy Francis! Timothy Francis! 
Your sister is here.” 

The black man on shore stood stock-still, then 
capered like a goat, and the officers turned round in 
astonishment. 

“She’ll send word to you,” the captain roared on 
then he turned to Nonnie. “He’s on Quarantine 
Island—must be on a big passenger steamer from 
Southampton that put in there two days ago with 
three cases of smallpox. You can’t land. When you 
get home, call up the quarantine doctor.” 

Nonnie got up, held on to the boy, and said gravely, 
“I thank you a million times, Capt’in.” Then she was 
supported to the cabin, saying to me, “Come along, 
Monkey,” and what a spell of rejoicing she had. I 
248 




Nonnie Finds her Timothy 


249 


never heard anything like it in my life. She called 
down blessings on the captain, and his family, and his 
children, and their children, and children’s children, 
and she blessed the steamer, and the passengers, and 
officers, and the smallpox cases because they had 
brought her Timothy to her, and she begged for length 
of days and strength of arm for her dear brother, 
and ever so many other good things that I cannot 
remember. 

When the schooner glided in to her home wharf like 
a graceful bird, Nonnie, as one in a dream, accom¬ 
panied the captain to his neat house, and his wife told 
her daughter to run to the hen-house for eggs, and she 
started to make a cup of tea and spread some bread 
with nice yellow butter, but Nonnie could touch 
nothing, even though they tried to tempt her with a 
generous slice of watermelon that I afterwards got. 

Just as soon as the boy had his supper, he harnessed 
their horse and prepared to drive Nonnie back to the 
city. 

The drive on this side of the harbor wound up hill 
and down dale, and past many fishing streams that 
were full of trout. We also passed several of the 
forts with which the harbor is surrounded. Soon we 
came to a sugar refinery and then we were in the pretty 
town of Dartmouth that lies opposite Halifax. 

When the boy drove up to the gates of the ferry, 
some men-of-war sailors who were going over recog¬ 
nized Nonnie, and paid the boy and sent him home. 
Then when we got to the Halifax side they took 
Nonnie to the quarantine doctor, and found out all 
about the time the steamer would be held up. Finally 
they put her in a cab, as there were no taxis about, 
and sent her home. 

Nonnie, still in a dream of bliss, came out of it long 




250 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


enough to thank them heartily, then she sank back 
again until we reached home. There she became her¬ 
self, and fairly burst into the sitting-room with her 
news. It was quite dark now, and the children were 
sitting around a table learning their lessons, but there 
was no more studying when Nonnie began her story. 

The Sandys family was almost as much pleased as 
she was, and told her she could have the old coachman’s 
room in the stable for her brother if she liked. 

“He’s a rover,” she said, “an’ mebbe he won’t stay 
long, but I’d like to have his own little corner where 
he could put his footses up on a chair an’ talk to his 
Nonnie.” 

Mrs. Sandys told her to do just as she pleased, and 
for some time there was no more roaming the wharves. 

Nonnie hung over the Russian, who was asked to 
paint and paper the room and put a stove in it. She 
did not take me on her shopping expeditions, but I saw 
the things when they came home. 

When everything was finished, it was the snuggest 
place that I ever saw. Nonnie had two comfortable 
chairs, one for Timothy and one for herself, placed 
each side of the stove, and around the wall hung some 
pictures of Florida that Grandmother sent up from 
Rossignol. They were of big trees with streamers of 
long moss, and sandy shores and palm groves, and 
luscious bunches of tropical fruits, and Nonnie was in 
an ecstasy over them, and could hardly wait for the 
day to come when Timothy would see them, too. 

At last that happy day arrived, and he, grinning 
as of old, drove up to the door with his small trunk 
on the side of the taxi. Nonnie nearly hugged him to 
death, and all the Sandys family greeted him most 
kindly and begged him to feel quite at home with them. 
Rachel especially acted like a little lady. She felt that 




Nonnie Finds her Timothy 


251 


this was another retainer for her dear brother when 
he should get out of prison. 

Finally they all went away, and left Nonnie and 
her brother and me in the comfortable room in the 
stable. The evening was chilly, and what a fire Nonnie 
had on. 

She closed both windows when the white folks had 
gone, and we drew near the stove and sat there rejoic¬ 
ing in the beautiful heat which was much more than 
a real Nova Scotian could stand. Didn’t we talk! It 
was about one o’clock when Nonnie and I crept to bed, 
and we overslept ourselves in the morning. 

Well, Timothy didn’t run away as Nonnie had been 
afraid he would. He stayed right on and made himself 
very useful in helping her. One thing that he could do 
that the Russian could not, and that was cooking, and 
when Miss Macadder had a party she always sent for 
him, and he went gladly for she never called him a 
cook, but a “chef.” 

Nonnie made him do other things and he was a 
splendid washer, but he would not hang out the clothes, 
though I offered to hold the clothes pins for him as 
I did for Nonnie. 

“No go, monkey boy,” he said; “I draws de line 
right there.” 

Nonnie, when the novelty of Timothy’s return had 
worn off, stopped talking to him all the time, and began 
taking him about with her. 

The Sandys family was delighted with the effect of 
his arrival on her. She now had someone of her own 
flesh and blood—a constant companion who kept her 
from thinking overmuch about the approaching end of 
my master’s trial. 

I seemed a little dearer than before to her just now, 




252 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


and she took me nearly everywhere that she and 
Timothy went. 

What fun we used to have prowling about Water 
Street, and the wharves and piers, or going to visit 
some of the new friends that Nonnie had made among 
the many colored people who lived mostly in the middle 
of the city near the big Citadel! 

She introduced Timothy to them all, and they 
compared notes as to whether their ancestors came 
from the Southern States or the West Indies, and they 
used to have parties with nice things to eat, and I did 
my various tricks and brought down lots of applause. 

Sometimes we went to the outdoor market where 
we met the colored people who had small truck farms 
in the country. They sold all sorts of green stuff, and 
had plenty of fresh eggs, so Nonnie and Timothy took 
baskets on their arms and did the family shopping. 

We would all really have been perfectly happy at 
this time, if the thought of the approaching end of 
my master’s trial had not been hanging over us, like 
the heavy stick in the hands of a master who is going 
to punish a bad monkey, for there are bad monkeys 
as well as human beings. 




Chapter XXVIII 


The End of the Trial 


I SHALL never forget that day. Dr. and Mrs. Sandys 
came in one sad and rainy evening about dusk. Their 
heads were down, and Mrs. Sandys had been crying. 

“Five years in the Penitentiary,” I heard them 
whisper to Rachel, who was curled up on the hearth¬ 
rug waiting for them. She had a good fire, for by 
this time the evenings were getting cool. Autumn was 
really upon us. 

Nonnie came tiptoeing upstairs when she heard 
them, and when they whispered again, “Five years,” 
her face did not fall. 

“Praise God!” she said quite loudly. “Nonnie was 
afeared her boy would get more dan dat.” 

Dr. and Mrs. Sandys looked terribly sad, and Rachel 
was sobbing like a baby, but Nonnie was still cheerful. 

“Look-a here, you dear oneses,” she said; “listen 
to one of Nonnie’s ’speriences. I wasn’t goin’ to tell 
you, but mebbe it’ll help you keep up de brave fight. 
Monkey, you come here, ’cause you was with me,” and 
sweeping me into the hollow of her arm, she sat down 
in a chair by the fire, and drawing the weeping Rachel 
to her, she said, “Does you want to hear a story about 
your sainty mother, my little one ?” 

Rachel, who was a brave girl, dried her tears, and 
taking Nonnie’s hand, nodded her head. 

I knew what she was going to say, and I was glad. 
I would have put the story in my little book earlier 
than this, but I was afraid to do so, for it was some¬ 
thing that I did not understand. 

253 




254 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


How I listened—how I listened, as the dear old 
black woman, leaning forward in her chair, began in 
her rich, deep voice! 

“Missa an’ Docta, has you noticed that jus’ before 
we left our happy home Nonnie give up grievin’ an’ 
questionin’ what dat godly Methodist minister from 
England called ‘de pretty ways of Providence’?” 

“Yes, Nonnie, I did notice it,” said Mrs. Sandys, 
“and I wondered what had happened to you, for you 
were pretty serious before then, though you did not 
worry as you did when we went to Rossignol.” 

“Missa,” said Nonnie, “de Lord sont me a messen¬ 
ger. Now, listen! One evenin’just after we got back 
from de blessed Granfadder’s, Nonnie went up to 
visit de graves, an’ Monkey here came trapseing after 
her.” 

I tried to look grateful to her for including me, and 
grunted feelingly. 

“Oh, dat cemetery!” said Nonnie. “It was so brave 
an’ sweet in de evenin’ air. I thought, ‘How will 
poor Nonnie live widout de sight of dat spot where 
rests de dear body of dat ever-lovin’ Miss Jenny?’ 
Well, de good Lord comforted me, an’ dis little creetur 
here, he was scared an’ crouched close to me. Now 
Missa an Docta an Rachel, whedder you believes me 
or not, as I sat on dat dere bench what de Docta made 
an stared at dat white marble stone, de roun’ thing 
on it wid de lubly woman face in de middle seemed to 
get kind of hazy and bright. De night was failin’, de 
night-hawks was cornin’ lower an’ lower, makin’ deir 
strange noise, an’ suddenly dere was a noise dat was 
not de noise of a bird. Somethin’ seemed to come 

right out from dat dere marble, but it wasn’t marble_ 

oh! no, it was lovin’ an’ soft like de brushin’ of a lady’s 
dress. I closed my weary eyes, an’ it seemed dat a 




The End of the Trial 


255 


hand was laid on my forehead an’ a voice said, ‘My 
frien’ ’—now no one ever said ‘my frien’ ’ jus’ like 
Miss Jenny—‘my frien’, don’t grieve no more; out of 
stone walls can come sweetness an’ blessin’—jus’ dat 
an’ no more; but oh! how Nonnie was comforted! 
Dere was an arm round me, a gentle lovin’ arm, and 
when I opened my eyes I knew dat what was goin’ 
to happen to de boy was de right thing in his mudder’s 
eyes. Now don’t mourn, chillen, don’t mourn!” and 
without a tear in her own eyes, she put me down and 
stretched an arm round poor Mrs. Sandys, who had 
sunk on her knees beside her and was crying just as 
Rachel had done. 

The old black woman sat there like a mother with 
her children. The Sandyses had been under a heavy 
strain, and I think they were disappointed about what 
seemed to them a heavy sentence. They had been 
hoping that the law would have been more merciful 
to their boy. 

“Don*t mourn, Missa Ales,” Nonnie kept on saying; 
“de time will pass, an’ dere’s a powerful blessin’ in 
store for you an’ dat dear boy of a Docta. De court 
is all right. Dere’s got to be a mighty dose of medi¬ 
cine to take all de sickness out of dat poor young 
body. Five years ain’t any too long a time. Keep up 
de brave heart-” 

Mrs. Sandys suddenly sprang up. “Nonnie, I’m 
ashamed of myself, but I—I had been hoping,” and 
here she broke down again and cried and laughed so 
hysterically that her husband took her in his arms and 
carried her up to her bed. 

Nonnie went down to the kitchen and made her some 
strong, hot, sweet ginger tea, and when Mrs. Sandys 
drank it she felt better and soon fell asleep. Rachel, 
who was all worn out, too, with anxiety, went to her 





256 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


room, and Nonnie, seeing that the Doctor was sitting 
beside his wife, signalled to me to go to the kitchen 
with her. 

I felt terribly excited, and seeing these human beings 
give way made me think that I must do something, 
too, so I went round the kitchen shaking and beating 
everything I could get hold of, imitating the actions 
of monkeys in Zoos who, when they get in a temper, 
rattle the wire netting of their cages as if they would 
tear it to pieces. 

Nonnie surveyed me coolly and said, “Now you, 
Jimmy, stop dat! No use givin’ way to de debbil 
if you is crossed about your master goin’ to de 
Penitentiary. You come right along here an’ ketch 
some cockroaches. Dat’ll drive de sorrow out of your 
mind. You’ve been a-presumin’ on your grief to knock 
off work.” 

It was true I had been careless and I knew it. It 
was my task to keep the kitchen free from all creeping 
things, and they had got ahead of me; but didn’t I 
fall on them now! I pretended that the cockroaches 
were the judge and jury that had condemned my dear 
master to a prison cell for five long years, and I assure 
you they went scampering under the sink as if a lion 
had been after them. I leaned down and jabbered in 
their hole, “If one of you shows hide or hair in this 
kitchen again, I’ll tear you all to pieces.” 

The old king of the cockroaches pulled his head into 
his hole. He was frightened to death, and that very 
night must have led his hosts into the Wiltshires’ 
kitchen, for I heard them telling Mrs. Sandys that 
they had had a sudden invasion of cockroaches. 

Nonnie was pleased with me and gave me a handful 
of raisins, and while I was eating them, I heard Miss 
Macadder’s voice in the front hall and scampered 




The End of the Trial 


z$7 


upstairs. She had called to sympathize, but she did 
not see Mrs. Sandys. The Doctor came down, and 
while he talked to her she allowed me to sit beside her. 
I offered her a raisin, and she took it, but did not eat 
it. I supposed she was stuffed with the delicious 
things she had to eat in her own house. 

I wanted dreadfully to stay and hear what they said, 
but Nonnie’s voice came soaring upstairs, “Jimmy 
Gold-Coast! Jimmy Gold-Coast!” and I had to run 
for my life, for she did not like to be kept waiting. 

“I’se too excited to stay in de house dis night,” she 
said, “an’ Timothy’s off wid an ole frien’. I’se a-goin’ 
to see dis Penitentiary where dey put my boy. Go get 
your little jacket an’ trousers, too, ’case it’s cold, an’ 
run up stairs and find Nonnie’s new muff.” 

I hadn’t been out all day, and I loved the new muff, 
for monkeys can safely take the air in chilly weather 
if they are kept warm. Nonnie liked to have me with 
her, for she said she had never had a baby of her own, 
and though I must never for a minute compare myself 
with a human being, I was like a nice little animal 
infant for her. The family had shrieked with laughter 
over the muff that she had made to carry me, and had 
chaffed her about forcing the season, for it was only 
autumn now. Winter had not come by any means. 
This muff had a great pouch in it, and Rachel said that 
when Nonnie put me in it and went along the street 
she looked just like a kangaroo. 

The kind old woman was so big and fat that a few 
extra pounds of monkey flesh did not make much 
difference, and she delighted in bossing me, for she 
never allowed me to stick my head out of the muff 
unless she gave the word of command. 

On this night I jumped into the muff when she had 
put on her bonnet and cloak, and we set out. Leaving 

R 




258 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Queen Street, she turned into one called Morris Street, 
and passing our children’s school-house, walked toward 
the west. 

It was quite dark now, but the streets were well 
lighted, and Nonnie often stopped to peer into win¬ 
dows where the blinds were not drawn. She knew 
several of the families roundabout by this time, for 
the Sandys children brought half the neighborhood to 
our house. 

These houses were all comfortable looking and of 
a fair size, but like our own, were ugly outside and 
pretty inside. Their walls were mostly of wood, 
not very well painted, but the scenes inside in 
the little parlors were interesting and often touch¬ 
ing, for the Haligonians are very strong on family 
life. 

“Too much wood, bad for fires!” said Nonnie; then 
she stopped short, for the bell from the nearest engine- 
house began to ring. 

“One, two, three,” Nonnie counted; “pause—den 
one, two, three, four—dat’s box thirty-four, Monkey. 
Not de Sandys’ box,” and she journeyed on; but she 
stopped again to laugh as a young man who had been 
walking in front of us shook the girl from his arm 
and dashed away. 

“Dat’s hard lines for you,” said Nonnie comfort¬ 
ingly* “ain’t much pleasure in havin’ a fireman beau, 
is dere, miss?” 

“No, there isn’t,” said the girl pettishly. “He’s 
always bein’ called off, and he’s sleepy all the time, 
’cause there’s a bell at the head of his bed that often 
calls him out at night.” 

“Want to come along with me?” asked Nonnie 
kindly. 

The girl looked at her black face, and saying coldly, 




The End of the Trail 259 

‘‘No, thank you,” veered off from us as if we had 
some disease. 

Nothing upset Nonnie, and she merely chuckled: 
“You an’ I is dark, Monkey, in dis world, but I guess 
in de resurrection morn we’ll be whiter dan some odder 
folks. Stick your head in your nestie. Dere’s a passel 
of young folks cornin’, an’ I ain’t got no time to bodder 
wid dem.” 

I hid myself, and we jogged comfortably along until 
I ventured to peep out and saw that we were directly 
in front of the long building of the School for the 
Blind. 

Nonnie was surveying it in great approbation. 
“Dem folks dat sees an’ cares for dem what don’t 
see is pullin’ down a blessin’ on demselves,” she said 
aloud; then she stood for a while to listen to the sound 
of some fine chorus singing. 

Finally she said, “Time is a-flyin’,” and waddled 
along broad South Park Street, which was bordered by 
quite large and fine-looking houses. Nonnie sauntered 
under the big trees and made remarks about every 
house we passed. Certainly she did love to talk to 
herself. 

“We’s a-gettin’ grander,” she said; “an’ now, 
Jimmy, we mus’ switch off to Tower Road—Hi! 
What you doin’?” 

Then she began to laugh. A young red-coated 
soldier had almost run her down. The half-past nine 
o’clock gun had just fired from the Citadel, and he was 
afraid of being late in entering his particular barracks. 

“Well, bless my heart, Monkey!” said Nonnie, 
“if here ain’t anodder girl,” and she stared at a red¬ 
cheeked damsel who was standing disconsolately under 
a street light. 

“Come along wid me, honey,” she said in her nice 




26 o 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


motherly way. “De young men all seem to be on de 
run to-night.” 

The girl turned her fresh face toward her. “We 
didn’t know how late it is. I’ll go a short bit, but I 
have to be in at ten.” 

“Is dat de time here for de back door?” asked 
Nonnie affably. 

“Some mistresses let you stay out till eleven,” said 
the maid, “but I’m just from home, and I promised 
mother I’d never stay out late.” 

“If you minds your mudder, you’ll never go wrong,” 
said Nonnie, “seein’ she’s dat kind of a mudder. 
Where you come from?” 

“The Annapolis Valley,” replied the girl. 

“What part of the Valley?” asked Nonnie. 

“Downton way—the old Post Road.” 

“What’s your name?” Nonnie continued. 

“Mary Somerset.” 

“My soul an’ body,” said Nonnie, “if it ain’t little 
Mary Somerset growed up! Don’t you remember de 
Docta fixin’ up your pa’s arm dat time he bruk 
it?” 

The girl was delighted, and seized Nonnie warmly 
by the hand. She had just come to the city and knew 
few people. She was full of trouble, for she had taken 
a great fancy to this young red-coat, and her mistress 
did not approve of him and would not have him sit 
in her kitchen. 

“It’s the first thing they ask you here when you 
want a place,” she said bitterly, “ 'Have you got a 
soldier beau?’ Ain’t soldiers as good as anybody?” 

“ ’Course dey is,” said Nonnie, “but dey has good 
appetites, an’ de mistresses is afraid of you sneakin’ 
things to eat to dem.” 

“Does a soldier eat any more than any other man?” 





The End of the Trial 


261 

the girl asked indignantly. “My brothers are farmers, 
and they eat like horses.” 

Nonnie laughed so much at this that she could 
scarcely walk; then remembering the time, she hurried 
on, talking meanwhile soothingly to the young girl, 
who after a while left us, promising to call on Nonnie. 

She came once, and then never again, and would 
not speak to Nonnie when she met her. 

Nonnie giggled about it. “She’s foun’ out dat I’se 
in de direc’ line from a king,” she said, “an’ she’s 
afraid dat I’ll refuse to ’sociate wid her. She don’t 
know how meek I is.” 

However, to go back to this particular night—we 
journeyed along down the leafy Tower Road that led 
to the fat round Martello fort in the evergreen park 
lying at the tip of the peninsula on which the city of 
Halifax is built. 

The children haunted this park, and ever since we 
came had had frequent picnics there. Their table 
was always spread on one of the huge rocks that 
lifted their heads at intervals through the lovely wood. 
One day they had an exceptionally toothsome lunch, 
and not being sufficiently hungry to do justice to it, 
went to play, and when they had raised tremendous 
appetites, they went in search of their rock, but could 
not find it. 

Nonnie was convulsed with laughter when they came 
home mourning and half starved, and said, “Serves 
you right, chillens! Nonnie asked you to take Monkey 
on dat picnic, an’ you, Rachel, said he’d be a bodder. 
Monkey would have tooked you to dat eatin’ spot like 
a dart.” 

Rachel caressed me kindly and promised that they 
would never again have a picnic without me. She was 
certainly a very sweet-tempered child. 




262 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


To-night I shivered as I left the cool wind, and re¬ 
treated to the warm depths of the muff. The summer 
was over, the autumn had come, and the children 
would have few picnics—at least so I thought then. 
I did not know what hardy young things those 
Sandys children were, and how they would play in 
the snow as gaily as they had frisked about the green 
grass. 

When we got near Miss Macadder’s house as Non- 
nie plodded down the long road to the Tower, I stuck 
my head out. The old mansion was of wood, and 
situated at the end of a long avenue that wound 
round a big circular lawn. How often had I trotted 
up that avenue at Rachel’s heels when she went to 
call on her new friend, but to-night I was contented 
to stay in the muff. Lights were twinkling in the 
house, but not too many, for Miss Macadder was not 
one to waste money. 

Nonnie groaned very sweetly as she cast a loving 
look up the avenue. “Lord, give dat good soul length 
of days! Make her shine like de sun in de might of 
her good deeds. I calls down blessin’s on her head,” 
and singing under her breath: 

“Dat dear good woman will be dere, 

In dat beautiful world on high,” 

she again took up her march to the Penitentiary. 

As she walked, she talked to herself. “It certainly 
am strange dat these city folks put deir ole prison 
slam down here in de fashionable part of de town. 
Don’t seem nature to have de poor boys shut up here 
near de tantalizin’ homes of de rich. I’se glad dere 
ain’t no women in it. Seems like de women of Novy 
Scoshy don’t take to sinnin’ like de men—here we is, 
Monkey!” and she paused at the top of a long lane 




The End of the Trial 


263 


that led from the shady road down toward the blue 
waters of the inlet called the North-West Arm, that 
runs up from the harbor to the back of the city. 

There were two big rocks painted white to show 
the entrance to the lane on a dark night, and steering 
between these rocks, Nonnie plodded along. 

I got right up out of the muff to stare about me. I 
had been here but very few times and always in a car¬ 
riage, for the children were not allowed to have their 
picnics anywhere near the Penitentiary. One drove 
down to its gates and then turned, but to-night we left 
the carriage road and took a path that went all round 
the grim grey building. 

It was quite dark with the exception of the Warden’s 
quarters in front, where lights showed in two rooms. 
“De boys be all gone to bed,” muttered Nonnie. “Now 
we’ll have to look out for de guards, Monkey boy, 
’cause dey’s jus’ as soon shoot as look at us.” 

I didn’t feel very happy about this expedition, but 
Nonnie, with all her daring, had a broad streak of 
caution in her and always left a loophole of escape. 

“Monkey boy,” she said in a low voice, “do you 
’member Nonnie tellin’ de chillen about de walls of 
Jericho dat fell down when de people marched roun’ 
about. Only we ain’t got no rams’ horns for trumpets, 
an’ it wouldn’t be seemly to make dat noise here. But 
de time will come for shoutin’ and rams’-hornin’. 
Nonnie feels dat. Dese here grey walls will fall down 
jus’ like de walls of dat town of Jericho. Does you 
believe dat, Monkey?” 

I hadn’t known Nonnie so long then as I do now, and 
I didn’t believe her, but the time did come when not one 
stone of that dismal old Penitentiary was left on another. 

I shall never forget our clammy walk that night. 
A fine fog swept in from the mouth of the Arm, and 




264 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


though it was not thick enough to prevent Nonnie 
from feeling her way about the Penitentiary down to 
the water’s edge, where its yard wall ran out to the 
water, it gave us considerable discomfort, and I kept 
in the muff, only sticking my head out at intervals. 

“Now which is de cell of Nonnie’s lamb?” the dear 
old woman kept repeating. “Where does he lay his 
handsome head dis night? Blessin’s on dat head an’ on 
his bones, an’ may de good Lord keep de dampness out 
of dem. Monkey, Nonnie’s got to go home. She’s gettin’ 
stiff wid her rheumatics,” and with one last look at the 
grey sky and greyer building, she hobbled back to the 
entrance to the lane leading up to the main road. 

“Jericho’s walls is tumblin’ down,” she sang softly 
as she went along, “an’ prison walls will tumble, too. 
De folks now dey say dat dose Jericho walls was only 
four feet high. Doesn’t make no difference to de Lord, 
four feet or fifty. If He says, ‘Tumble down,’ down 

dey tumbles- Oh! Lord! scatter de prisoners, take 

’em to de country where dat good kind Macadder lady 
wishes dem to go. Punish dem, Lord. Make dose 
lazy boys learn to work an’ stop pickin’ odder people’s 
pockets, but don’t punish dem like as dey was wild 
beasts. Monkey, if I beated you an’ shut you up wid 
cockroaches an’ rats, would you learn to be a good 
monkey ? No! I gives you a little crack now an’ agin, 
but I loves you, an’ you knows it.” 

I was so affected by this that I would not be con¬ 
tented till she let me crawl from the muff and give 
her a good hug round the neck. 

“Thar! thar!” she said at last. “Get in your nestie. 
To-morrow be ironin’ day, an’ Nonnie’s got to get 
home an’ get some rest. Mind you be on hand to pick 
up the things she drops on de floor. We’ll come to 
Jericho anodder day.” 




Chapter XXIX Nonnie’s Visit to the Penitentiary 


For quite a time after our boy was taken to the 
Penitentiary, Nonnie did not see him. He would not 
send for her, and after a while she became desperate. 

“Pse a citizen, Monkey Boy,” she said. “I has a 
right to visit my own prisons. Dat darlin’ boy can’t 
bar Nonnie out from her duenesses. I’se goin’ to call 
on de lads what dat ole Satan hauls one way, an’ 
society hauls de odder,” and down to the Park she went. 

She took me with her, and as long as I live I shall 
never forget those cold halls and clanging doors, and 
the sight of those men in their dreadful convict garb, 
one-half yellow and one-half grey—for this was sev¬ 
eral years ago. 

Nonnie wanted to go all over the place, and the 
Warden, who was a remarkable man, conducted her 
himself. Miss Macadder had spoken to him about the 
old black woman, hence this condescension on his part. 

However, he was a man entirely out of the common. 
Years before he had come to the Penitentiary as head 
blacksmith, and by sheer force of character had worked 
himself up to be chief Warden. He was a well-known 
man in the city, Miss Macadder had told the family, 
and Master Nappy would be benefited by a stay under 
him, for his rule was as kindly as prison discipline 
would allow. 

Master Nappy did really begin to start on the long, 
hard road to reform as soon as he went to the Peni¬ 
tentiary, but his heart was considerably softened be¬ 
fore he arrived. The family could not understand 
his attitude toward Nonnie, but she shook her wise old 
head and said, “Don’ you hurry dat boy. He’s afeard 
265 




266 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


of Nonnie. He thinks I’m a-goin’ too fast in slappin’ 
dat ole debbil in de face.” 

“That is the truth,” said our clever Doctor. “Nappy 
is afraid of giving in too soon.” 

“He’s got a proud stomach,” said Nonnie, “like 
dat young man in de story-book who wouldn’t eat de 
crusses de old woman guv him. But he’ll come roun’ 
all right. He can’t turn Nonnie’s stomach for de lost 
lambs.” 

I stared at the Warden curiously. He was an enor¬ 
mous man, very black-haired and with whiskers. His 
huge fists were like hammers. No prisoner ever dared 
to stand up to him, but his temper was as gentle as that 
of a lamb, and he never condemned a prisoner unheard. 
They all respected him, for he was afraid of nothing. 
Miss Macadder told us that when winter came, and 
the lovely sheet of water at the back of the Penitentiary 
was covered with ice, he did not interrupt his usual 
practice of having a dip every day of his life, but went 
down and broke the ice with those big fists of his, and 
had his plunge that made him as hardy and rugged 
as a big black bear. 

With his shrewd eyes fixed on Nonnie, he conducted 
us through the deathly quiet stone building, for at that 
time prisoners were not allowed to speak. She wanted 
to see everything, and hung over deep pots in the 
kitchen, and the tables in the long dining-hall, sighing 
because her Nappy was never allowed anything but a 
spoon to eat his plain food. 

When we came to the cell-block which was like a 
building within a building, her voice trembled as she 
asked: “Does de young man what you know I mean, 
sleep here?” 

The Warden said No, that he had a cell in the front 
part of the building facing the avenue that led to the 
gates. 




Nonnie’s Visit to the Penitentiary 267 


“Oh, dose rows of cubby holes like coffins up¬ 
ended,” murmured Nonnie, and tears came to her 
eyes. Then she lifted her head toward the roof of 
that dismal old heap of stone that had re-echoed so 
often to the sighs and groans of unhappy men. 

“Did you speak?” asked the Warden, and she said, 
“Yes, sir, I said, ‘How long, Lord, how long?’ ” 

He smiled, and opened the door of the shoe-making- 
room that looked on the walled-in yard, and that had 
a little sunshine stealing in. 

It seemed to me that Nonnie’s eager eyes raced 
ahead of her, like the Doctor’s greyhounds, up that 
long room. She knew her boy was here, and there he 
sat, the beloved one, at a low bench hammering away 
on the sole of a boot. He neither spoke nor looked at 
us, but he knew that we were there, and we knew that 
he knew it. Nonnie tottered a bit, and supported her¬ 
self against the wall, then she remembered her dignity, 
and, pulling herself together, proceeded in a slow way 
up the long room. 

Master Nappy had a red spot in each cheek and was 
deathly pale, but did not look so thin as I had expected 
he would. I was still in Nonnie’s muff. She had said 
nothing to the Warden about me, and he had asked no 
questions, though I was sure he saw me. 

Though human beings could not speak, there was no 
rule about monkeys, and as Nonnie sauntered gravely 
along I made one spring, and had my arms round my 
master’s neck, and oh! how I hugged him. 

I felt that there was a positively frightful sensation 
in the room. Not one of the men sitting over their 
work benches dared to speak, but oh! what they 
expressed in the stealthy glances they directed toward 
me from the corners of their eyes, and what a wave of 
sympathy I felt coming from them as I jabbered out 




268 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


my undying love for my master—convict or gentleman, 
or anything under the sun, but always the dearest per¬ 
son in the world to me. 

The good Warden wheeled round—of course I had 
seized a moment when his back was turned to make 
my spring, then smiling quietly he motioned to Nonnie 
to take me, and as she did so, she murmured against 
that poor shorn head, “Nonnie’s own precious boy!” 

All the way to the Penitentiary I had carried tightly 
curled in my hand a bill that I had not stolen from 
Nonnie, for she saw me select it from her purse. In¬ 
deed, she had taken away the first one I chose and had 
changed it to one that must have meant more, for she 
said rebukingly that “Monkey must not stint his 
master.” 

As a travelled monkey, I knew that when gentlemen 
go to prison a little money is a very useful thing to 
have, and I thought it no harm to tuck this bill down 
the back of my master’s dreadful convict shirt when 
I was hugging him. 

He felt it, and ah! what a sigh he gave. His eyes 
were just eating me up, but he did not dare to caress 
me—just the sigh, nothing more, then he bent his head 
over the tap-tapping of his boot, and did not even 
glance at us as we left the long room. 

When we got back to the Warden’s office, Nonnie 
sat down in a chair and faced him. “You belongs?” 
she said simply, and when we went home I asked 
Polly whether she meant some secret society. 

“No,” said Polly. “To Nonnie the world is divided 
into good and bad people, and if you’re not one, you’re 
the other. She meant that the Warden was like her¬ 
self, and wished to help his fellow-creatures. Other¬ 
wise he would not have been so kind to a black woman. 
Listen and hear whether she prays for him to-night.” 




Nonnie’s Visit to the Penitentiary 269 


She did pray for him, and I am glad I have lived 
long enough to watch some of the blessing she en¬ 
treated for that man dropping right down on his nice 
black head. 

Miss Macadder and the Sandyses just hung over 
Nonnie when she gave the account of her visit to the 
Penitentiary. They were having a dreadful time with 
Grandfather who had been extremely old-fashioned 
about prisons till he came to the city. 

“What’s the matter with the jail life?” I heard him 
grumbling. “If a lad goes wrong, he’s got to be well 
punished.” 

Miss Macadder took him through the Penitentiary, 
and then he flamed up. 

“Has my grandson got to spend five years in that 
living grave?” he asked. “He hasn’t room to turn. 
He couldn’t endure that if he were all the saints rolled 
in one. Has he got to hold his tongue most of the time 
for five years? The Lord made him with a tongue.” 

“What about fresh air?” asked Miss Macadder 
mischievously. “He’s suffering from lack of it. His 
indoor life has driven him to crime. They’ve put him 
at making boots and shoes. Imagine how he’ll hate it.” 

“They’ve no sense, these law-makers,” raged Grand¬ 
father, and he began going about the city, storming 
at his fellow citizens who allowed their sons to be put 
in stone traps like so many mice and rats. 

“I’d make convicts work,” he shouted at Polly and 
me and Millie one day, when we were his sole audience 
in the sitting-room, “but I’d not make them slave 
inside those stone walls sweating criminal history. 
Get them out in the open!” 

“Haven’t you got some land up in this county,” 
said Miss Macadder, “that’s bringing you in nothing, 
and that is covered with fine virgin forest ?” 




270 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“Yes,” said the old man, “I have, but what’s that 
got to do with my grandson?” 

“Everything,” replied Miss Macadder. “Give it to 
the government for an up-to-date barracks for convicts. 
They have these places in other parts of Canada,” and 
she told him all about a wonderful open-air reforma¬ 
tory called Burwash in the Province of Ontario. 

Grandfather opened his old eyes till one could really 
see the pupils, then he slapped his knee. “It’s done. 
You’ve got your father’s brains, if you are a woman.” 

Then he began a campaign to raise money, and had 
a successful time at first, for nearly all the leading men 
he went to were sons and grandsons of his former 
friends who were mostly dead. However, he abused 
his privileges, Miss Macadder told him, when he met 
with opposition, and started to tell prominent persons 
what he thought of them. 

One day I heard a sound of laughter from our back 
garden, and trotting out, pulled aside the bushes and 
saw Dr. Sandys and Mr. Wiltshire sitting back and 
just roaring with amusement. They were telling each 
other what Grandfather had said at a public meeting. 

“He’s threatened with three libel suits,” said the 
Doctor. “He told John Dullin that he ought to be in 
the Penitentiary himself and gave the little particulars 
of a lumber deal of his some twenty years ago. Then 
Howies Green is after him about that election fraud. 
Grandfather has no proof.” 

“Send him back to the country,” said Mr. Wilt¬ 
shire; “you and I and Miss Macadder can run the 
thing now,” and dear old Grandfather, fighting 
mightily, but all done out, went back to Rossignol, and 
giving up his beloved walks, spent all the next winter 
in dictating letters to influential Nova Scotians in 
every part of the province. 




Chapter XXX 


The Call in the Night 


It came about in a peculiar way, and on a very cold 
winter night, and old Nonnie was in the forefront of 
the affair. 

She had gone to bed early, for she happened to be 
very tired, and soon fell fast asleep. 

I was not sleepy, and lay awake, thanking my lucky 
monkey stars that I had such a comfortable bed, and 
such nice down coverlets, and that I was not an organ- 
grinder’s monkey. 

Why are organ-grinders so often cruel to their 
monkeys? Can’t they reason? Don’t they know that 
a monkey has flesh and blood like themselves, and likes 
nourishing things to eat? 

“Oh! how I wish all the organ-grinders would fall 
asleep and never wake up,” a poor little brown Sapajou 
in New York used to say to me. Then he would groan 
and wring his hands and pat his poor empty stomach. 
I often used to sneak him things to eat, and I took 
such pains to call my master’s attention to him, that 
one day in a fit of generosity he bought him and gave 
him to a rich old lady who was staying in our hotel, 
and she took the monkey to drive with her every day, 
and he sat on the front seat of her car with her chauf¬ 
feur. 

Oh! how grateful that monkey was to me. He used 
to lay his little thin hand on his heart and say, 
“Brother, I can’t get used to it. It is all so strange 
to me. I put my hand on my neck. There is no cruel 
cord there jerking me. I put my hand to my head. 
It is cool. There is no heavy plumed cap pressing me 
down. I look at my table when meal times come. 

271 




272 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


I see no tiny onion beside a crust of bread. I have 
beautiful things to eat. The lady does not give me a 
cup to collect pennies. She never beats me, because, 
though I run so fast with the cup I cannot fill it. ,, 

“Bless your heart, Sapajou,” I used to say, “your 
lady has more pennies than she knows what to do with.” 

“Then she will never set up an organ,” he used to 
say anxiously. “It seems to me I could never go back 
to that life.” 

“You’ll never have to,” I said, and I felt dreadfully 
when my master made me take some of this good 
lady’s pennies. 

My unfortunate master—how he was making up 
now for those and other pennies, and I shivered and 
shook in the bed, for as the winter came on, the red 
spots in his cheeks grew deeper, and his face became 
more deathly pale. 

He was nearly all day in the shoe-shop, and had 
only a few minutes’ exercise in the high-walled prison 
yard. Then he was in a very low state in his mind, 
though he became gentler with his uncle and aunt, 
and seemed to like his talks with them. 

What was going to become of him? At this rate, 
he would never stand five years of prison life, and I 
used to tremble as the Sandyses sat by the fire and dis¬ 
cussed his case with the kind Miss Macadder who 
really seemed to belong to this family now. 

It was an open secret that she wished to adopt 
Rachel, and I heard Mrs. Sandys one day talking to 
the little girl about it. 

“Auntie,” said the child, and she gave her a pecu¬ 
liar look, “aren’t you my own mother’s sister?” 

Mrs. Sandys smilingly said that she certainly was. 

“Well,” said Rachel, and she laid her hand on her 
breast as she had a habit of doing when she was very 




The Call in the Night 


273 


much in earnest, “there’s something here like a little 
string pulling when I think of leaving you.” 

“It’s the family string,” said Mrs. Sandys joyfully, 
“we’re very clannish.” 

“Then,” continued Rachel, “instead of Miss Mac- 
adder adopting me, why don’t you adopt her?” 

Her aunt burst into delighted laughter, and caught 
her niece to her in a warm embrace, and the next time 
Miss Macadder came in she told her of Rachel’s pro¬ 
posal. 

Miss Macadder did not show her feelings as plainly 
as Mrs. Sandys did, but she looked immensely pleased, 
and the next time the Sandyses went to Downton for 
a week-end, Miss Macadder went, too. 

As a genuine Nova Scotian, she knew the Valley 
well, and was quite at home with the people. 

“I’m a poor lonely orphan,” she said to an old 
friend whom she met there, “and the Sandyses have 
adopted me.” 

Being now a member of our family, she claimed 
the privileges of an aunt, and whenever she liked she 
came to spend the night with us, and whenever we 
liked we told her we were going to visit her. 

So when Master Nappy called to Nonnie to come 
and see him, it happened very fortunately that Nonnie, 
Rachel, Polly, Timothy, and I were week-ending at 
Miss Macadder’s. Dr. and Mrs. Sandys and the 
children had gone to Rossignol for a few days. 

Though my master was in such a sad state, Nonnie 
still was not worrying about him. “It’s Mr. Debbil 
a-strivin’ wid him,” she used to say. “De boy’s heart’s 
turnin’ from stone to flesh, an’ it’s wearin’ his body 
out. He’s a-fightin’ agin it, but de angel in him will 
come out on top. Go on, angel—fight dat ole debbil. 
Nonnie’s a-prayin’ for you. Down wid debbils, is 

s 




Jimmy Gold-Coast 


274 

Nonnie’s motto. Up wid angels—an' she’s got de 
Almighty on her side.” 

I was turning all these things over in my mind this 
night, as I cuddled up to Nonnie in this beautiful 
house, and as if she understood, she began to mutter, 
“Dat’s right, Missa Angel. Give dat debbil anodder 
whack. An’ you’s a-lookin’ on, too, Miss Jenny. 
Why, she puts up her little fisties, too. Gimme a 
mudder every time. She’ll watch her boy. Go on. 
Miss Jenny. Dere’s lightnin’ a-dartin’ from your 
lubly eyes. Oh! yes, I’se a-comin’, too. I’ll help, 
Miss Jenny.” Then to my great interest, Nonnie 
started rolling over like a nice black ship trying to 
right itself, and finally sat up in bed. 

‘I’se a-hurrin’, Miss Jenny,” she said, and she put 
one foot out of bed. “Where’s my stockin’s, Monkey- 
Boy? Oh! here dey is—Nonnie’ll get dressed,” and 
yawning and stretching herself, she turned on the 
light, and began to pull on her clothes. 

All the time she kept talking as if the boy’s mother 
were in the room. “Yes, Miss Jenny, Fse got a little 
remembrancer for him, but I didn’t lay out to go till 
to-morrer, but jus’ as you say. Anythin’ to oblige 
de family—Jimmy, you go get me dose newspapers.” 

I got some of the daily newspapers lying on the 
table, and when I saw her run them up her back, I 
knew she was going outdoors. Surely she would not 
venture to walk to the Penitentiary this time of night. 
Yes, that was just what she intended to do. To¬ 
morrow would be the boy’s birthday, and she was 
going down the snowy road to lay her cheek against 
those' cold stones and wish for him many returns of 
happier days than to-morrow would be. 

Soon she was dressed for the street. Like all 
colored people she hated the cold, and wore so many 
clothes when she went out in the winter time that 




The Call in the Night 


*7S 


she could scarcely move. She had on as many petti¬ 
coats as a Scotch fish-wife, and she was bulging out 
with newspapers that she ran up her back and over 
her chest inside her cloak to keep the wind from her 
spine and stomach. 

I ran to get my nice new fur-lined coat, for I sup¬ 
posed I was going with her, but she shook her head. 
“No, Monkey-Boy, Nonnie can risk her own life, but 
not her master’s precious pet’s. Don’t you know it’s 
been snowin’, an’ de snow won’t be shovelled till 
mornin’ ?” 

I was uneasy about this expedition. How lonely 
the prison road would be to-night with no fur-covered 
sleighs, and groups of merry children playing in the 
snow. I stayed at the window a long time, curled 
upon the warm radiator underneath it, then after I 
had seen Nonnie waddling down the road and vanish¬ 
ing under the pine trees, I began to reflect. 

Suppose her clumsy feet gave way, and she fell in 
the snow. Suppose she lay out there all night, and 
froze to death, and at this thought I slipped down to 
the floor. I was in the house of a rich woman who 
would be glad to help Nonnie, and I swung on the door 
handle, and turned the knob, then scuttled down the 
hall to Miss Macadder’s room. 

One peculiarity of the good woman was that she 
always slept with her door open, and that she never 
went to bed as long as there was anyone up in the 
house. I entered her room softly, and stole up to the 
bed. There was her greyish head on the pillow, and 
some nice gentle snoring coming from her half open 
mouth. 

Some of her teeth were in a glass on the table beside 
her, and oh! how I was tempted to stop and play 
with them, but this was no time to dally with toys 
when my beloved Nonnie was out in the cold. So 




276 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


taking good care not to disturb them, I reached across 
the table and tickled her under the chin. She did not 
wake, and I pulled the chain of the electric light above 
her head. Here was another thing that I loved. All 
monkeys like to tamper with sparkling things, and I 
know some South American ring-tails that can put all 
the electric fixtures of a house out of gear in the 
twinkling of an eye. 

However, I restrained myself and began to grunt 
“Yah, yah 1” 

That woke her, and rising on an elbow she gave 
me a wide smile on account of the missing teeth, and 
said, “What’s the matter, Mr. Monkey?” 

I wrung my hands, and beat my breast like a dis¬ 
tressed gorilla, and pointed to the door, and she had 
the good sense to get up, put on her bath-robe and 
follow me. 

I galloped back to Nonnie’s bed, and showed her 
the empty place, then I waved my hand towards the 
Penitentiary that was not far off. 

“Has she gone to see the boy?” she asked, and I 
nodded, and then she went to the telephone by her 
bed, and rang up the garage. 

“The limousine as quick as possible,” she said. 

When she began having Rachel come to her house, 
she bought the handsomest car she could find, for she 
said that young people nowadays do not like slow 
things like broughams. 

I watched her while she dressed, and when she put 
on her grand new sealskin dolman I stroked it ap¬ 
provingly. She took her second best sealskin coat 
to wrap me in, for she did not think my little coat was 
warm enough. She had offered this old coat to Rachel, 
but the child would not wear it as she had heard so 
much from her aunt about the cruel killing of seals. 




The Call in the Night 


277 


We went out as quietly as two mice, for we did 
not want to wake anyone else in the house, Rachel 
especially. Then we got into the limousine, and I 
stared adoringly into her face. It was certainly very 
comfortable to be rich and have plenty to eat and 
drink, and nice soft clothes to wear. Now if we only 
had poor old Nonnie here. 

The snow was really too deep for a motor-car, but 
her big one ploughed through it, and we went slowly 
but surely over the white avenue to Tower Road, and 
then down the lane that led to the Penitentiary. Oh! 
what a fairyland the lane was to-night with the firs 
and spruces standing like white policemen, their arms 
full of spotless snow, as if they were saying, “How 
can you go into that grimy prison? Stay out here 
with us where it is clean. ,, 

There stood the old building between us and the 
water’s edge—grim and grey as usual, but having an 
almost comical appearance from its white night-cap 
of snow which the wind had blown crookedly across 
the dull slate roof. 

The Arm was frozen over, and late as it was we 
could hear the ring of skates as some persons crossed 
to their pretty bungalows on the other side, their path 
made safe by the rows of young spruces that outlined 
the way to go. 

“There’s a light in the warden’s office,” said Miss 
Macadder. “Nonnie must have arrived. I hope he 
won’t be vexed with her. Oh! I am so thankful,” 
and she sank back on her seat, and rested till George 
came to open the door. 

George was the chauffeur, and he was young and 
full of tricks, and led the old coachman and footman 
a merry life. 

All the way here, Miss Macadder had been scanning 




278 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


the road anxiously. I think she feared with me that 
Nonnie might have fallen down, and been too ex¬ 
hausted to get up. 

When George rang the bell, the door was not opened 
very quickly, and when the assistant warden at last 
appeared he looked rather confused. 

Miss Macadder, seeing the office door open, walked 
toward it, and there was Nonnie sitting on the hard 
old sofa behind the door, and looking as calm as if she 
had been having a stroll on a summer day. 

She was even smiling, but the assistant warden, whose 
name was Gurton, was in a great fluster, and hurriedly 
began telling Miss Macadder what had happened. 

I, of course, was right at Miss Macadder’s heels 
when she entered the room, and as soon as I saw 
Nonnie, I ran and sprang on her lap. 

“He called,” she whispered in my ear, “he called. 
Our master said, ‘Nonnie!’ an’ I come.” 

I was very thankful to hear this, but Gurton made 
me uneasy, and I turned to him. 

“He usually keeps his mouth shut,” he said, and I 
knew he meant my master, “but to-night there was a call 
from his cell that raised a riot, for there’s something 
about that feller that scares the whole boilin’ of them.” 

I knew what he meant. I had heard the Sandyses 
saying that though Master Nappy never opened his 
mouth to speak to a prisoner, they all had a great 
fear of him and much respect, too, not on account of 
any goodness in him, but because they thought he was 
a master criminal. 

“What did he say?” asked Miss Macadder. 

“I didn’t hear his first yell,” said the man, “but I 
asked, and they said he give a shout for her,” and he 
turned a thumb over his shoulder toward Nonnie, who 
remarked very sweetly in a low voice, “Praise de Lord.” 




The Call in the Night 279 

“And then what did you do?” asked Miss Mac- 
adder. 

“Packed over there on the dead run,” said Gurton. 
( T found him standin’ on his tiptoes on his bed so 
he could catch a squint at the road. He must have 
seen this woman,” and again he pointed to Nonnie. 
“He must have seen her walkin’ down here. Then 
when I tore in and said, ‘What d’ye mean?’ he fell 
back in a fit.” 

“I suppose you frightened him,” said Miss Mac- 
adder. “Well, what did you do then?” 

“Took him to the hospital ward.” 

“Has he recovered from his fit?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“And who is with him?” 

“The nurse, and we’ve sent for the doctor.” 

“Where is the warden?” 

“Off for the night seein’ his old father.” 

“And his wife?” 

“She’s dressin’,” and at that moment Mrs. Romney 
appeared, looking rather upset. She was a kind 
woman, and spoke nicely to Miss Macadder, who said, 
“I don’t know what your rules are, but this young 
man, MacHadra, seems to be very ill.” 

Mrs. Romney said she didn’t know, but she wished 
that her husband were here. 

Miss Macadder turned to the door, and going out 
to the limousine told George to go to the warden’s 
father’s house, which was in the north end of the city, 
and tell him that Miss Macadder wanted him. 

Then she came in again, and said firmly: “I want 
to see this young man.” 

“Five years ago,” said Gurton gloomily, “a lifer 
made his getaway by makin’ a mock of dyin’.” 

“If MacHadra gets away,” said Miss Macadder 




28 o 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


decidedly, ‘Til let you put met in his cell. Lead the 
way to the hospital.” 

Gurton looked at Mrs. Romney, but she would not 
give him any sign, and most unwillingly he went out 
into the stone corridor, and led us, for Nonnie and I 
went along, too, up the worn stone stairs to the clean, 
bare hospital. 

Such a plain little cot and such a weary face on the 
pillow—Oh! my dear master—was he going to leave us ? 

I looked at Nonnie, and took courage. Her face 
was beaming, and she advanced towards the bed. 

Gurton put out his big arm almost as heavy as the 
warden’s. He would take orders from Miss Mac- 
adder, but not from a negro, so Nonnie smiled like a 
nice black saint, and went two beds away, but con¬ 
tinued staring very hard at that beloved face. 

Miss Macadder looked terribly, and spoke in low tones 
to the nurse. “Are you giving him stimulants ? Is he 
warm? Can’t you get some more hot water bags?” 

The man nodded his head, produced two more bags, 
and shuffled away to fill them. 

Miss Macadder leaned over Master Nappy, and spoke 
to him. His stony face never changed, but at that in¬ 
stant there was a noise in the hall, and a guard ushered 
in the doctor, who came hurriedly up to the bed. 

Nonnie and I had to get quite into the background, 
but after a few minutes when Miss Macadder came 
over and whispered, “The doctor says that there is 
very little hope. He seems to be sinking fast,” 
Nonnie stood up quite straight, and went with a 
quiet step up to the doctor. 

“If you all has done what you can, let ole nurse 
speak to her boy. She can’t hurt him.” 

The doctor nodded and stood back, and Nonnie 
went up to the bed. 




The Call in the Night 281 

The doctor stared at her as curiously as if he had 
never seen a black woman before. She had bent low 
over our master, and had put both arms round him, 
almost lifting him out of bed. Into his ear she was 
pouring the soft sweet music of an old lullaby she used 
to sing to him when he was a baby. 

“Poor little pickaninny, frightened by a bear, run 
to your mammy,” and so on. 

When she got to “Bear shan’t get you,” her voice 
began to rise, and soon I put my fingers in my ears. 

“What a volume of sound!” said poor Miss Mac- 
adder, who appeared to be half pleased with what 
Nonnie was doing, and half shocked. 

Outside there was a low roaring from the cell block, 
the prisoners were stirring again, and nodding to the 
two guards in the hall to follow him, Gurton left us, 
and hurried out. 

I was nearly crazy. Nonnie was trying to call our 
master back from some place where she did not want 
him to go. Neither did I. It would kill me to have that 
darling face shut away from me, and creeping up to the 
bed, I thought to myself, “What can I do to help?” 

What used to rouse him, and make him spring up 
no matter how comfortably he was sitting in a chair 
or lying in his bed? What but the word that meant 
someone was on his track, and would put a dreadful 
hand on his shoulder? 

I crept on all fours under the beds until I got close 
to him. Then I rose up, and holding on the bedclothes, 
put my lips to his ear, “Fly, master,” only I could not 
say “Fly!” like a human being. I had to bark out 
something like, “Flah-yah!” but he understood me, and 
those tightly sealed eyes opened. Opened just for a 
second, but Nonnie saw, and her song burst into such 
a carol of thanksgiving that, as Miss Macadder after- 




282 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


wards said, “It was enough to wake the dead. I never 
knew that any woman had such a river of sound in 
her throat.” 

The doctor motioned to Nonnie to stop clasping the 
boy—there was always someone bossing that dear old 
woman—and she stood up and took her arms from 
around him, and then, then—the miracle happened. 

He sat up straight in bed—our strangely restored 
master, and opening his eyes wide he stared at Nonnie. 

What a hush there was in the room! Scarcely 
anyone breathed. 

“Nonnie,” he said quite distinctly, “Nonnie, I can’t 
hear it down here,” then he fell back, but he was not in 
a dead faint as before, and pushing Nonnie away, the 
doctor bent over him, and seeing the gentle perspiration 
breaking out on his face, signed to us all to go away. 

That good prison doctor worked over our master all 
that night, and only left him when two trained nurses 
were installed by his bedside. 

When Dr. Sandys got to the Penitentiary, he said 
that everything had been done that could be done, 
and now there was nothing to do but wait—and we 
waited, oh! so patiently, for it was weeks and weeks 
before our boy was able to talk to anyone. 

On our way home that night Miss Macadder asked 
Nonnie what it was that Master Nappy could not hear, 
and Nonnie said, “Dat twelve o’clock gun of salvation 
dat was callin’ to de sinner to repent. He was too far 
away from de citadel of grace to hear it.” 

“Then he didn’t mind it, after all?” said Miss 
Macadder. 

“He minded it,” replied Nonnie, “an’ den he didn’t 
mind it, an’ den he did. His pussonal debbil is dead, 
shot through de heart by de good folks of dis town— 
Praise de Lord.” 





Chapter XXXI 


Right About Turn 


When we went home that night from the Peniten¬ 
tiary, I sought out Polly, who was having her last nice 
sleep before dawn. 

She lived, when she was visiting Miss Macadder, in 
a warm conservatory opening off the dining-room, and 
Miss Macadder said she was going to buy another 
parrot to be company for her. 

“Poll,” I said, “wake up! I have magnificent news 
for you.” 

She didn’t much like being disturbed, but forgave 
me when she heard what I had to say. 

“Muddy de water so deep,” she gurgled. “We’ll 
have a little meetin’ in de mornin’.” 

“I heard Miss Macadder say that she believed 
Master Nappy’s conscience had waked up. Polly, 
what is a conscience?” I asked. 

She put her wise old head on one side. “I don’t 
know exactly, Jimmy, but I think it’s a kind of clock 
that tells human beings when to go and when to stop.” 

“Then my master’s clock has told him to stop,” I 
said. 

“Yes, and go the other way,” said Polly. “Now 
if he’ll only mind the clock!” 

“Miss Macadder says this has been coming on for 
some time,” I went on hopefully. 

“What does Nonnie say?” asked Polly shrewdly. 

“She says that Master is now like de poor Indian 
in de wood, all happy-like inside.” 

“Just as truly as my fourth toe turns backward,” 
283 




284 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

said Polly. “What Nonnie says is apt to be the 
truth.” 

“And she says, too,” I went on, “that if our master 
is going to be good, he will soon be let out on parable. 
What’s parable, Polly?” 

“I dunno,” she said, “but 'out’ sounds nice. Must 
be that he’ll leave that old Penitentiary.” 

He did later on, but first I must tell what happened 
when he was recovering from the sickness he had that 
terrible night when he called for Nonnie. 

He was very weary and weak for a long time; then 
he began to pick up flesh, and to notice what went 
on about him. 

The first thing he did was to tell his uncle and aunt 
that he was ashamed of all the trouble he had given 
his relatives, and he had made up his mind to turn 
right round in his career. He was going to behave 
himself now, and he begged them to help him still, for 
he felt that he could never climb the steps to a new life 
without some assistance. 

I shall never forget the way they looked when they 
came home from the Penitentiary the day he had this 
talk with them. 

They seemed dazed—like two persons who have 
been carrying a heavy load for a long time, and cannot 
realize that it has fallen from them. Indeed, the 
doctor did square his big shoulders and give himself 
a shake as if he could stand straighter now. His wife 
went up to the picture of her darling sister that was 
on the dressing-table, and gave it a long look; then 
she burst into tears, and it was hours before she could 
compose herself. 

The Doctor had to call Nonnie, who said rebukingly, 
“Now, now, Miss Ales, you ain’t never been one to 
have high strikes, an’ you ain’t a-goin’ to begin now.” 




Right About Turn 


285 


When she wouldn’t stop, Nonnie, who was very 
obliging, said, ‘‘Well, den, jus’ keep on a-sobbin’. 
Seems to me Nonnie’s heard you say dat folkses would 
be better if dey laughed a little more an’ cried a lot 
more—so you jus’ keeps on,” and then Mrs. Sandys 
stopped, and Nonnie stroked her head till she fell 
asleep. 

Nonnie rejoiced late that night, and the next day 
prepared most eagerly to go to see our master, who 
had sent for her. 

She went into the hospital ward very quietly, but 
if ever I saw a perfectly happy human being, it was 
that dear old woman. Her substantial feet did not 
seem to be on the ground. She was just floating in to 
bathe in the light of her master’s countenance. 

“Nonnie,” he breathed, as he lay with his shorn 
head on the pillow; “Nonnie, you called me back!” 

“’Twas Miss Jenny tole me,” she whispered; “she 
jus’ seemed to come swimmin’ through de air.” 

“They got hold of me,” he murmured, “those other 
minds. I struggled, but I have given up. I will fight 
no longer.” 

I seized one of his white hands and laid my head on 
it. I puckered up my mouth in a whistle of delight. 
Now he would never have to run from anyone. 

He smiled as he turned his eyes to me. “And you, 
Jimmy Gold-Coast, must come out of your jungle. 
You’re to be a good monkey now.” 

“He’s a firs’-class little critter already,” said Nonnie 
gently. “He don’t steal no more. He minds his 
manners, an’ he waits on Nonnie like a weeny black 
brudder.” 

“He beat me—a poor animal got ahead of me!” said 
my master sadly, and he looked so distressed that the 
nurse came forward and sent us away. 




286 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


As we were passing the Warden's office on our way 
out, his wife called us in and gave me some walnuts 
and Nonnie some cake and gooseberry wine. She 
also told her a very interesting thing. “When the 
young man gets well, he’s going to be given a trial 
as prison bookkeeper,” she said, and Nonnie was so 
excited that she nearly choked to death over a cake 
crumb. 

The Warden’s wife patted her on the back and 
apologized for telling her such an important piece of 
news so abruptly, but Nonnie, who was always a 
valiant old soul, said, “I’d choke to death for de sake 
of forwardering de interes’ of my master. Ain’t you 
got somethin’ more to tell me?” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Romney, laughing heartily. 
“There’s no harm in telling you this, either. When 
my husband went into the hospital ward yesterday, 
the lad whispered, Tf you’re not ashamed to shake 
hands with a thief, sir, there’s my hand, and thank 
you for your kindness to me.’ ” 

“And what did the Warden say?” gasped Nonnie. 

“He said, T’m ashamed to shake hands with a thief, 
but I’m not ashamed to shake hands with a thief that 
is ashamed of being a thief.’ ” 

“Praise de Lord!” said Nonnie. “There’s some talk 
of parablin’ dat dear boy of ours. What you think 
about dat?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Romney, “but I would 
guess that he would be a fit subject for parole. I’m 
sure my husband will recommend him if he does well 
at the bookkeeping.” 

“Books!” exclaimed Nonnie. “Sure, my master can 
keep any books dat was ever writ!” 

The Warden’s wife smiled. She saw that Nonnie 
did not understand, but it did not really matter. 




Chapter XXXII 


Out on Parole 


During the next few happy months my master did 
splendid work in the Penitentiary. He did not wear 
the hideous two-colored clothes now, and the Warden 
told Dr. and Mrs. Sandys one day when they were 
calling on him that he had never seeen a young man 
with such real talent for bookkeeping. 

“And do you think his repentance is genuine ?” 
asked Dr. Sandys anxiously. 

The Warden gave him a beautiful smile, and said, 
“He is a new person. I do not believe he will ever 
slip back again.” 

The Doctor’s face glowed, and he went on, “Then 
what about his parole?” 

“The Board will grant it next spring,” replied the 
Warden; and they did, and on one never-to-be- 
forgotten May day our beloved master came out of 
prison. It was the day when the school children all 
over Canada sing: 

“ ’Tis the twenty-fourth of May, 

The Queen’s birthday; 

If you don’t give us a holiday. 

We’ll all run away”— 

and the Queen mentioned was the good Victoria that 
Polly loved to talk about, for the old parrot remem¬ 
bered when she was on the throne. 

Master Nappy had not told the family just when 
he would be released from the Penitentiary, and on 
this* particular morning he slipped up a path that led 
through the woods to Deepbrook. 

287 




288 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


Rachel and Nonnie and I were spending a week with 
Miss Macadder, and Rachel had gone to a boat race on 
the Arm. I was out in the garden with Miss Macadder, 
for she liked to have me trot about after her. She was 
watching the gardener potter about some new flower 
beds when something came over me, warning me that 
my master was near. 

I left Miss Macadder, and going to the gate in the 
garden wall, saw him walking under the pines. I 
dropped down to his shoulder as he passed through 
the gate, and touched his lips, his ears, his neck and his 
cheeks with my fingers, and then rode triumphantly 
into Miss Macadder’s presence. 

She gave a slight scream. “My dear boy—what 
a surprise! We did not expect you for a fortnight 
yet. Put your hat on,” she added, as she saw old 
Ben staring open-mouthed at that still dear disfigured 
head. 

Then she said, “Go into the house, Ben; it is time 
for your lunch.” 

Ben shuffled reluctantly away. He wished to stop 
and stare at this young man who was talked about at 
Deepbrook as if he were a prince. My master was 
as handsome as ever now, though he was unnaturally 
pale from his indoor life. 

“We shall soon put some brown on your face,” said 
Miss Macadder, as she took his arm and walked 
toward the house. 

Master Nappy stopped when we got to the duck 
pond. “No farther, Miss Macadder!” 

“Are you not going to have lunch with me?” she 
said in a motherly way; “now and always if you 
wish. I have already told you that I should like to 
adopt you.” 

“Too much happiness for me,” he said with a smile; 




Out on Parole 


289 


“but if you will keep me for a short time till I look 
about me.” 

Miss Macadder’s face beamed. “With all my heart, 
and perhaps you will reconsider your refusal—now, 
what do you wish to do?” 

“Have you any little spot at the back here?” and 
he nodded toward the spacious carriage-houses and 
wood-houses that the rich Nova Scotians used to 
build in the days before motor-cars and furnaces were 
heard of. 

“Come along and see,” she said, and she wheeled 
about and trotted toward an empty gardener’s cottage 
that stood in a sunny patch of green surrounded by 
hollyhocks. 

“Just the thing!” he said. “Now if you will 
allow me to occupy it until I decide what to do? 
I should like to be near you and Rachel for a few 
days.” 

Most deeply gratified, Miss Macadder took him 
through the cottage and asked him what kind of fresh 
curtains and draperies he would like. 

She could get him to say nothing, except that it 
would dc very well as it was; so she went into the 
house and sent Nonnie out to him. 

The dear old soul came waddling out with her cap 
on one side and her mouth full of “Glory Hallelujahs!” 
She was in the seventh heaven now, for Miss Mac- 
adder had told her that if Mrs. Sandys permitted she 
was to live in the cottage and keep house for her 
master. Timothy, who was now cook while Miss 
Macadder’s old servant was on a holiday, would send 
their meals out, and he certainly did let us have some 
pretty fine dishes, especially when Miss Macadder was 
giving a party. 

When Rachel came from school she put her arms 




290 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


round her brother’s neck and cried like a baby; then 
she sat with him till long past her usual bed hour, 
until Miss Macadder came out with Timothy bearing 
a supper tray. 

“If you young ones will turn night into day,” she 
said good-naturedly, “the least the old ones can do is 
to keep your strength up.” 

Master Nappy got up and kissed her hand, but she 
said, “Not my hand, boy, but my cheek. Remember 
you are the son of my adoption, though you refuse to 
live in the house with your mother.” 

Master Nappy gave her a strange look, and I, under¬ 
standing him so well, saw that this woman meant more 
to him than she dreamed of. She had so little knowl¬ 
edge of his misdeeds, whereas his relatives knew him 
and his father before him down to the ground. He 
smarted under the lash of their thoughts. He would 
be more comfortable with her, though he loved his own 
family better. 

How pleased I was! Miss Macadder would keep 
him near his family, for she was the soul of honor. 
Truly our beloved boy at last had his feet set in the 
ways of pleasantness and peace that Nonnie talked 
about. 

“Jimmy,” said my master to me that night after 
every one had gone to bed and he had shut the door 
of his room, “Jimmy, my boy-” 

I thought he was going to say something very 
important and sat up on the foot of the bed that I 
had chosen as my resting-place. 

“Jimmy,” he said again, “Jimmy, at last!—at 
last!”—and that was all he said. 




Chapter XXXIII 


What Nonnie Thought of 
the Prison Camp 


The burning question that arose after my master had 
a rest, and had put some flesh on his bones, was what 
he should do with the rest of his life. 

He was not as downcast as he had been the first 
few weeks he came from the Penitentiary. A new 
spirit had come to him, and he often whistled to the 
birds as he walked about Miss Macadder’s pine wood 
with me, for he had stayed at Deepbrook, though his 
uncle and aunt had begged him to go to the Queen 
Street house. 

The Sandyses all came to see him here, and one day 
when he was playing games with the children on the 
lawn at the back of the cottage, Nonnie, who was 
ironing his shirts in the little kitchen, called to him 
that the “Docta” was coming. 

I hurried after my master as he ran to greet his 
uncle, while Nonnie bustled about to get iced coffee 
and wafer cakes, for the day was very warm. 

While they ate and talked the Doctor came to the 
subject of what Master Nappy was to do, and said, 
“You know, dear boy, that you owe a debt to society. 
Why not pay it back in service to the sick? I’ll help 
you with a medical education.” 

Master Nappy’s eyes went leaping beyond the 
Doctor to Nonnie. How much that dear lad did think 
of his nurse’s opinion. 

She was pouring hot coffee over the cracked ice in 
the Doctor’s tumbler. She knew very well that our 
291 




292 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


master was fighting all the time against any kind of 
occupation that would bring him in contact with his 
dear family, dearer than ever to him now that he was 
determined that he would have nothing to do with them. 

“ ’Cause,” said Nonnie to me, “if he mixes hisself 
up wid dem, it’s a-goin’ to remin’ de good Novy 
Scoshuns dat Miss Rachel has a brudder dat has been 
in prison, an’ he’d give dat right han’ of his to keep 
everythin’ about her sweet an’ clean.” 

“Nonnie,” said our boy at last, “what do you think? 
You know me pretty well.” 

She answered in such a low voice that she almost 
whispered, for she had a great dread of opposing the 
Doctor in anything. “What about de odder souls in 
prison ?” 

Such a wonderful light came into our master’s 
beautiful eyes, and he turned to his uncle. “What do 
you think, sir?” 

“The Government is just about to pass the Bill for 
an experimental prison camp,” said the Doctor. “Your 
friend the Warden is to take up a batch of convicts— 
the work will be hard, but life in the open is just 
what you need. I never thought of this, but why 
not try it?” 

No one said anything for a few minutes, and then 
the Doctor spoke again. “This appeals to me the more 
I think of it. Prison reform is in the air. You could 
make it your life work—that is if it agrees with you,” 
and his eyes ran about the luxurious little cottage that 
Miss Macadder had taken such pains to fit up for the 
boy of her adoption, for now she stated openly that 
master and his sister would be her heirs. 

“Can you leave all this?” asked the Doctor simply. 

Master Nappy threw up his head. “Six weeks ago, 
I could not. Now, I can.” 




What Nonnie Thought of the Prison Camp 293 


Dear, dear master. I thought of the night he came 
from the Penitentiary. He had smoothed approvingly 
the soft linen sheets. He had laid his head on the 
violet-scented pillow with a caress—and now his eyes 
ran to the purple asters in the window-boxes, the 
dainty willow furniture of the cottage rooms, the cut- 
glass tumbler in his hand. 

‘Til do it,” he said. 

“You mean you’ll try it,” said the Doctor smilingly. 
“Remember that you have an over-developed mind, 
and an under-developed body.” 

Master Nappy spread out his hands. “See those 
callous places. I’ve been working back in the woods 
here—just plain digging and rooting up stumps, and 
I like it. Do you know what started me? Down in 
the Penitentiary I had plenty of time to think and one 
day I got an idea from Ollie.” 

The deep light that Polly admired so much came into 
the eyes of the Doctor as Master Nappy hurried on. 
“I remembered that one day when I was walking in 
the woods with him, his shoe-lace broke. Instead of 
wishing for another, he twisted grass blades together 
and made one. I envied him. He had had something 
in his education that I had missed—I’m going to 
Mother Earth now for lessons.” 

How the Doctor laughed. “The blood of your 
hardy ancestors is asserting itself. How interested 
your aunt will be!” 

Master Nappy, with a face quite red from emotion, 
said, “Ah! if I had only listened to her when I was 
young. What a fool I was! Now there’s another 
woman I’d like to consult about this, if you’ll excuse 
me,” and he went to the telephone. 

In ten minutes, Miss Macadder was down in the 
cottage talking to the Doctor and Master Nappy. 




294 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

She was terribly disappointed, and made no effort to 
conceal it. 

“I looked forward to the time when you and I and 
Rachel would travel together for a few years,” she 
said. “Perhaps you would go to Scotland-” 

Master Nappy shook his head. “Never—I have 
plenty of good relatives there. Let them reign in my 
stead. The bad strain has run out.” 

“Well, then, we could come back here,” she went on, 
“and settle down. Everything is forgotten in time.” 

“Except disgrace,” said Master Nappy softly, but 
he took her hand and pressed it. 

Miss Macadder wiped her eyes with one of her 
dainty handkerchiefs. “I have had many disappoint¬ 
ments in life,” she said; “I shall not break down under 
another one.” 

“You’re a brave soul,” said my master, and he got 
up and began to pace back and forth in a boyish way 
on the grass outside the veranda. “I’ll make you proud 
of me yet.” 

The Doctor glanced at Miss Macadder. This was 
what they liked—this youthful “braggishness,” as 
Nonnie called it. Master Nappy had been so quiet 
and cold all his life that now he seemed like a new 
creature. 

“I want to make up in some way,” he said suddenly, 
turning on his heel. “ ’Pon my word, I’m sorry for 
some of those chaps down there,” and he nodded in 
the direction of the Penitentiary. 

“Please get your ship,” said Miss Macadder 
coaxingly. “Get that wonderful thing to show your 
uncle.” 

Master Nappy hesitated, then went into his bedroom 
and came out bearing in his hand a beautiful little 
model of a full-rigged ship. 





What Nonnie Thought of the Prison Camp 295 

“The Warden brought it up,” said Miss Macadder 
in a soft low voice. “It was made for Napier by one 
of the life-sentence men—made in his leisure moments 
in his cell. Notice the exquisite workmanship.” 

The Doctor was profoundly moved, and for a 
minute could not speak. This gift, made by grateful 
hands, for Master Nappy did speak to the prisoners 
now, proved that his dear nephew was really trying 
to help others. 

“Well,” said Miss Macadder with a sigh as she got 
up, “I’ll have to go. I have some people coming for 
dinner. No use to ask you to come in, boy?” 

Master Nappy shook his head in a dreamy way, so 
she carried the Doctor off with her, Master Nappy 
accompanying them as far as the duck pond, for 
beyond that was, as he said, “out of bounds” for 
him. 

When he came back to the cottage, Nonnie never 
said a word till after she had served a particularly 
good dinner. Then as he lay outside on the grass near 
her kitchen window, she remarked in an apparently 
aimless manner, “I was down to Mrs. Romney’s to-day 
to take her some fresh gingerbread. De Warden was 
off on a visit to de country, but she laid out he’d be 
back at eight o’clock.” 

“You clever old soul,” said Master Nappy, and he 
blew her a kiss from the tips of his fingers. “How 
would you like, at the end of your exemplary life, to 
live in a prison camp?” 

“You can’t scare me, Mr. Nappy,” she said calmly. 
“I goes where de path of duty shines.” 

“If I go, you’ll have to go, too,” he said wilfully. 
“Rachel is out of the question. I’ve had to give her 
up, but I can’t live without you.” 

That settled Nonnie, and she smiled like an angel, 




296 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


and glanced at the dock. “Why, it’s mos’ eight,” 
she said. 

“Artlessly artful,” said Master Nappy with a gay 
laugh, and he was off the grass and down the path to 
the Warden’s, calling to me as he went. I followed 
him, keeping in sight his brown head, now so sleek 
again. He did not need to wear a hat pulled down 
over his ears. 

My mind was in a whirl as I scampered after him. 
How should I like a prison camp ? 

There was no doubt about what the Warden thought, 
and sitting in his small parlor that evening he made 
the walls resound with his hearty laughter when my 
master asked him whether he would like his old book¬ 
keeper for the new prison camp. 

“Bookkeeper!” exclaimed the giant, “I’ll make you 
an officer of the camp, and if you stay by me, you’ll 
be Assistant Warden. Gurton’s getting old. He’ll 
have to retire.” 

When we returned home that night, I did not go to 
bed when my master did, for Nonnie had taken me on 
her lap and was rocking quite wildly. 

“Jimmy,” she said, “I guess you an’ me feels alike 
about dis camp propersition. We prefers dis lubly 
place, but it ain’t what we wants, it’s what we oughts.” 

Putting my fingers up to her cheeks I felt tears, so 
I pulled out her handkerchief and wiped them away. 

She smiled and said, “Monkey-Boy, tears is like 
milk. Dere’s only loss in spiffin’ dem. Let’s get our 
sleep, which is better dan bewailin’.” 

Those were the last tears that Nonnie shed over the 
prison camp. After her first visit there, she was so 
overjoyed at the change for the better in our master’s 
appearance that she could hardly wait for him to get 
a house ready for her to live in. 




What Nonnie Thought of the Prison Camp 297 


Unfortunately, when he sent for her, I could not 
go, too, for Rachel had promised to take me on a trip 
to an American training ship that was lying in the 
harbor. 

Rachel belonged to a mutual benefit club called ‘The 
Rainbows,” and, in addition to amusing and helping 
each other, they gave aid to all boys and girls who 
needed assistance, especially those in hospitals. 

Nonnie set out in the morning, but we did not go 
till afternoon, and our journey was only down to one 
of the government piers. It was a glorious summer 
day, and we were conveyed in fine boats out to the big 
ship lying in the stream where the captain was waiting 
to welcome us. 

The cadets, who were manly looking lads, were all 
drawn up on deck, where everything was painted a 
nice cool grey. One particularly well-set-up boy con¬ 
ducted Rachel about, and, looking at me with great 
attention, took pains to lead us wherever the ship’s 
pets were. 

A wire-haired fox-terrier from Panama showed his 
teeth when he saw me, and placing himself by a boat 
barked, “Bow, wow! don’t touch this boat. My master 
is one of the championship crew, and has to row six 
miles a day when we are in port.” 

A handsome duck quacked angrily at me that there 
was nothing up north as hot as this harbor, and I 
said, “Wait till you get to the tropics, old girl.” 

Best of all the pets was an African grey parrot just 
like our Polly, who perched on the cook’s shoulder 
while he got afternoon tea ready for “The Rainbows.” 

When the boats took us back to the pier, we found 
Miss Macadder waiting for us with the limousine, and 
she invited some of Rachel’s friends to go home with 
us and stay for dinner. 




298 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


After dinner, when we were sitting on the lawn that 
was almost as green and velvety as if it were an Eng¬ 
lish one, dear old Nonnie came in sight, waving her 
parasol at us from a taxi. 

Miss Macadder asked one of the boys to go to the 
house and tell her to come out after she had had some¬ 
thing to eat, if she were not too tired. I accompanied 
him, and returned with her as she waddled comfort¬ 
ably along, her face wreathed in smiles. 

Miss Macadder admired Nonnie very much, and had 
offered to settle a sum of money on her as a reward 
for her devotion to her master, but Nonnie said, 
“De Sandyses will look after Nonnie, dear good Miss, 
but if you would give dat money to de colored boys 
an’ girls. Dey is jus’ like me when I was young. 
Dey gets a smatterin’ of learnin’ in de good schools, 
den dey runs. Make dem bend over deir books. 
Teach dem some of de new things dat de white chillens 
learns. Deir ignorance is deir holdback.” 

Miss Macadder was so pleased with Nonnie’s gener¬ 
ous spirit that she did start a school for the colored 
young people. It had a long name, but it meant that 
they would be trained to do better work in their houses 
and truck gardens, and learn how to farm like the 
white people, so that working together they could make 
the province an even better place to live in. 

“Dat woman sure is outstanding” said Nonnie of 
Miss Macadder. “She can always raise money for de 
good works, an’ yet she takes her needle an’ mends 
her rubbers when dey gets holes in dem. Dese Novy 
Scoshuns saves in deir does for deir eddications.” 

However, to come back to this day that Nonnie 
returned from the camp—Miss Macadder asked one 
of the boys to draw up a comfortable chair for her, and 
then said, “Please listen to Rachel’s nurse. We older 




What Nonnie Thought of the Prison Camp 299 

ones wish you younger ones to take an interest in our 
work, and carry it on after we are gone.” Then she 
signed to Nonnie, who began: 

“Miss Macadder, an’ Miss Rachel, an’ your friendses. 
I has had a mos’ satisfyin’ day. George he took me 
in dat gran’ car to de station, den I boarded de train 
an’ soon I arrives at de good prison flag spot which 
warn’t nothin’ but a heap o’ stumps. I gets out an’ 
a trusty meets me wid a two-wheel cart, an’ dere was 
no guard a-near him an’ no gun nor nothin’ an’ he 
drives me over a road dat ain’t no fedder bed, ’cause 
dey don’t want no soft-handed visitors dat would give 
things to de prisoners what ain’t good for dem. 

“My soul an’ body!—I did think I would come 
apart. Dat cart did seem to have one wheel in de 
sky all de time we druv in over dat corduroy road 
which ain’t certainly no encourager to faint hearts in 
de prisoners’ cause—you know what kin’ of a road dat 
is, ladies an’ gen’l’men?” 

The boys and girls in their soft white flannels all 
smiled. They were hardy Nova Scotians and quite 
used to trips in the woods. 

“Moreover,” Nonnie went on, “we druv an’ we 
druv over rocks an’ rills an’ finally we comes to de 
brim of a sprightly river, an’ dere it was. Stone 
buildin’s? No, sir, jus’ God Almighty’s trees. High 
walls? No, ma’am, just heaped up natural rocks. 
True, dere was a mighty high platform wid a thing on 
it like a big bird nestie, an’ dere sat a guard a-grinnin’ 
wid a gun beside him, but bless you dere warn’t no 
man dere dat would run into de swamps ’cause if dey 
did, dey’d be put in de punishment cells under de rocks 
which ain’t been used yet, for de woodses seems to take 
be badness out of men folks.” 

Just here Nonnie stopped and asked Miss Macadder 




300 Jimmy Gold-Coast 

whether her “guesties” knew what the prison camp 
meant. 

“I don’t think they do exactly,” said Miss Macadder, 
“please tell them.” 

“It’s de government plan,” Nonnie went on, “to 
have dose convicts hew down de logs an’ clean de Ian’ 
for a lubly farm dat de province will sell an’ make 
money out of de prisoners instead of spendin’ it on 
dem. Meantimes, dey lives in rough barracks which, 
when dat farm is made, dey’ll take down an’ move 
farder on to more woodses. No hard-earned province 
money for stone buildin’s an’ walls, you see. Den de 
men knows dat dey’re doin’ some good, an’ mebbe 
sometime de province will let part of de men’s earnin’s 
go to deir poor families what is sufferin’ while dey’re 
in prison.” 

But isn t that life too easy for the vicious crimi¬ 
nals?” asked one bright boy who afterwards, when 
he came into his money, was to be a splendid friend 
to the prison camps. 

Easy my stars and garters!” said Nonnie comi¬ 
cally. “If you’d see dose fellers slave! Why, 
Master Nappy tooked me round—an’ dat remin’s 
me, I ain t tole you how I mos’ didn’t know de boy 
I’d riz.” 

All these boys and girls knew the sad story of 
Rachel’s brother, so they were not surprised. It was 
told privately among Haligonians, but not a word 

about him—the member of one of their old families_ 

had ever appeared in any of their newspapers. 

“Well,” Nonnie went on, “dere was a slim young 
feller standin’ in a ditch when I arrove. I looks at 
him. ^ I didn t say nothin’, den he gives a laugh. 
‘Don’t you reckernize me, Nonnie?’ an’ didn’t I 
scramlicate out of dat cart. ’Twas my own boy, 




What Nonnie Thought of the Prison Camp 301 

but so black wid de sun dat only his own mudder 
would ’a’ known him dere a-bossin’ his men who was 
a-heavin’ earth like de wind, for dey say he’s an awful 
rusher, is our Mr. Nappy. 

“He warn’t too muddy for his Nonnie to hug, ’an’ 
you should ’a’ seen him bow over de pork an’ beans dat 
all de men goes rushin’ for when de whistle blows. 

“ ‘Honey/ says I kin’ of low, ‘dat’ll give you 
tummy-ache/ an’ he says, ‘Nonnie, I ain’t got no more 
tummy. De woods has took it all out o’ me’—but to 
come back to dat question of spoilin’ de prisoners—I 
tell you, young persons, dat our government ain’t goin’ 
to monkey wid no folks what has broken de law of 
de lan’ an’ de hearts of odder men an’ women. Dere 
is men dere so bad, an’ dey is worked so powerful, 
dat dey is longin’ for de sight an’ smell of de city, an’ 
deir ole easy sit-down labor, but de Warden is hopin’ 
dat time will take de poison out of deir bones. Most 
ones like my master is rejoicin’ to be out in de open 
away from de cells. Dey love de struggle wid de logs 
for de saw-mills, an’ de mud an’ mire in de swamps, 
an’ every night dey sleeps in deir beds jus’ like de good 
little babies dey once was, some not so many years ago. 
Dey is too drug-out to ponder over any mischief.” 

The bright boy asked her some more questions, and 
then Miss Macadder, seeing that the poor old soul 
was as tired herself as the convicts she had been tell¬ 
ing about, thanked her for her interesting story, and 
dismissed her with a kindly nod. 

I ran away to bed with her, and I can vouch for the 
statement that no prisoner in the camp slept more 
soundly than Nonnie did that night, for a first-class 
thunder-storm came up before daylight, and she never 
heard a bit of it. 




Chapter XXXIV 


My Little Wynkoops 


I really found my little Wynkoops through a half¬ 
quarrel between Nonnie and Timothy. One day while 
Master Nappy was still at Deepbrook and Timothy was 
still cooking there, the two dear old souls sat talking 
in the cottage kitchen. 

Polly, who had come to make us a visit, sat close to 
me, and we were having one of our nice old-fashioned 
times—I, scratching her head, and she occasionally 
rubbing my fur gently with her beak. 

“I suppose/' she said in her funny way, “that 
human beings would say I was hunting fleas on you.” 

“It’s a shame,” I said indignantly, “that so little is 
known about monkeys. We do not have fleas any 
more than other creatures. We have a saltish scurf 
on our skins that some poor monkeys who have not 
salt enough in their diet scratch off and eat.” 

“Hush!” she said. “Nonnie is pitching into Timo¬ 
thy. She’s having a great time with him about that 
prison camp.” 

“What did he say to her?” I asked. “I wasn’t 
listening.” 

“He was telling her all about the grand dinner party 
Miss Macadder gave last evening,” said Polly, “and 
how the General of the army, and the Admiral of the 
fleet, and the Lieutenant-Governor of the province said, 
when they were smoking in the conservatory, that 
Miss Macadder certainly had a good cook. Timothy 
was hiding behind the camellia tubs and heard them.” 

I stared at Nonnie. The old dear was saying with 
302 




My Little Wynkoops 


303 


a deep sly smile, “Brudder, dese good Sandyses—de 
Docta an’ his wife has given up one, two, mos’ three 
years of deir lives to come to dis city to save dat 
precious boy. Soon dey is goin’ home, an’ I’m to keep 
house in a prison camp. I goes joyfully, Brudder; 
now what is you a-doin’ for de souls of men?’' 

“I’m a-feedin’ de bodies/’ said Timothy. “Ain’t 
that religion to give good vittles to pussons, be their 
work heavin’ rocks or writin’ figgers, or swaggerin’ 
roun’ in uniforms?” 

“Brudder,” said Nonnie sweetly, “I loves you.” 

Polly began to whistle like a song-bird, and gave 
me a knowing look. I understood her. Nonnie was 
determined that Timothy was to go to the prison camp 
with her, and he might as well give in first as last. 

“I know you loves me,” said Timothy; “there ain’t 
no use discussin’ it.” 

“My brudder could live in a place what was furder 
from de water an’ de ships dan dis city,” said Nonnie. 

“Such as what?” asked Timothy with an anxious air. 

“Such as Camp Sandys,” said Nonnie, for the camp 
prison had been named after Grandfather, who had 
given the land. 

Timothy jumped up and began to splutter, for he 
had quite a temper. He wasn’t “goin’ to live in no 
woods, with no off-scourin’s of earth.” 

“The MacHadra lives dere,” said Nonnie proudly. 
“Ain’t what is good enough for him good enough for 
my brudder ?” 

“No, it ain’t, Christian,” cried Timothy, for he 
always called her “Christian” when she tried to do 
him good. “While I stay here, I’ll serve the Lord 
by doin’ my work and tryin’ to be as cheerful as a 
June cucumber, but when I leave, I’ll not stop to tie 
my shoes to go to no prison.” 




304 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“Master’s goin’ to build a log cabin for me,” Nonnie 
went on sweetly. “I could have my brudder live wid 
me, an’ he’d get good wages cookin’ for de prisoners, 
an’ he’d have de benefit of our master’s advice, an’ 
every week he could take de train an’ come down to 
de city an’ spend his week-end in one of de sailors’ 
boardin’-houses.” 

Timothy sulked for a long time, until at last Nonnie 
said, “Brudder, get your hat an’ coat an’ come along 
down town. It’s no harm jus’ to call in some of dem 
boardin’-houses. You knows you’d be lonely here 
widout your sister.” 

Timothy, grumbling powerfully, got the nice over¬ 
coat that Miss Macadder had given him, and putting 
his hat slightly on one side, which he always did when 
he wanted to show Nonnie how independent he could 
be, helped me put on one of my jackets of medium 
weight. 

The day was not cold, but it had been raining, and 
when we went out, Nonnie asked him to carry me, 
as she was afraid I might get a chill on the damp 
pavements. 

We sauntered along, Nonnie and I, quite happily, 
but Timothy only half happy. I was glad to get out, 
for Polly was not well enough to play with me, and 
Miss Macadder had given her a dose of medicine and 
put her in a quiet place. 

George picked us up in a cart when we were leaving 
the avenue and gave us a lift to the City Hall, from 
which place we walked down the hill past the big shops 
and the fashionably dressed people to the picturesque 
Water Street that Nonnie had not visited for some 
time. 

She trotted coolly up to a house where some of the 
porters on the Pullman trains boarded, and easily 




My Little Wynkoops 


305 


got the nice, clean-looking colored woman who kept 
it to promise to give Timothy a room if he should 
make up his mind to spend a couple of days a week 
in the city. 

Then, very contented in her mind, and petting 
Timothy, who was very low in his, she went along 
Water Street, “perambulatinY’ as she said, and 
“tackin’,” as Timothy said. 

Little dreaming what a great thing was going to 
happen to me that day I looked happily from Timo¬ 
thy’s arms at the crowds of people hurrying along the 
damp sidewalks. 

Here were some Lascars from an East Indian ship; 
there some German sailors from a Hamburg boat that 
had put into our harbor when some of its machinery 
broke down. Frolicking along, and jollying each 
other, were some American and British men-of-war 
sailors, just as full of tricks as kittens; and standing 
aside when they saw Nonnie to say respectfully, 
“Pass, mother!” 

“Bless you, boys!” Nonnie always replied, but very 
few of them knew her, for she had little time now to 
come to Water Street. The sailors were just naturally 
polite to all women. 

I loved the smells from the shops that lined the 
street. They were nice tarry, spicy, salty smells, and 
reminded me of other water-side places where I had 
been with my master when I was younger. Oh! how 
strange it was to think of him up there in the woods, 
working in the swamps and on the river! 

Nonnie had tried to tempt Timothy with this river, 
but he said, “Loggin’ ain’t sailin’. There ain’t water 
enough in your Sandys River to float an egg-shell.” 

Nonnie just smiled at him. The river was quite a 
large one, and he was going to live beside it, for when 


u 





3°6 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


she made up her mind that he should do a thing, he 
always did it. 

“Brudder,” she said after a time, “you an’ I is kin’ 
of selfish about Monkey. Let’s not be too much took 
up wid our own comfort. We’ll go down an’ see his 
frien’ de Java ape.” 

“Cert’nly,” said Timothy, brightening up and 
giving me an affectionate squeeze. “We’ll take the 
little fellow to see the only ’sociate he’s got of his 
own kind,” and we plodded cheerfully down a Govern¬ 
ment wharf toward a French cable ship where my 
friend the ape, Jaunette by name, was the sailors’ 
mascot. 

The officers of this ship had often gone to our house 
on Queen Street, for the Doctor and his wife were 
fond of French and belonged to some society where 
they spoke it all the time at their meetings. 

When we got to the cable ship, we went toward a 
group of sailors on deck, who welcomed Nonnie and 
her brother gladly, though they had very long faces. 

One of them, who spoke a little English, said to 
her that their fine ape was extremely ill. “In fac’,” 
remarked the man, “she die.” 

Nonnie almost cried, and I felt terribly. We all 
loved Jaunette, for she was such a good mother. 

Then we went below. On the way we met a goat 
who was the officers’ pet, and often ate matches and 
cigarettes, which Nonnie did not approve of, for she 
said tobacco would hurt even a goat in time. 

Well, there on a bit of sailcloth crouched the good 
Jaunette, hugging her baby to her as if she would 
never let it go. She did not look at all ill, but the 
sailors said she was just bearing up. Her back was 
dreadfully burnt, and the ship’s doctor said that she 
could not last any time. 




My Little Wynkoops 


30 7 


“What did happen to dis kin’ ole soul?” asked 
Nonnie, wiping away her tears, and the sailor who 
could speak English said that a few days before a fire 
had broken out in the hold from a cigarette thrown 
down, and here Nonnie shook a finger at the goat, 
who had followed us, though it was not his fault, and 
he bleated out that he always swallowed his cigarettes. 
Poor Jaunette, who had been sleeping below with her 
young one, had been caught, but before she fell back 
in the flames had managed to push her baby up a hatch. 

Nonnie exclaimed at this, but I could have told her 
that this often happens on the Gold Coast, where I 
have heard true tales of mother monkeys being shot 
themselves, but pushing their young ones to safety. 
Also, when hunters fire among a crowd of monkeys, 
each mother picks up the young one next her, and 
when the chase is over they exchange babies. 

The mother ape’s face lighted up strangely when 
she saw me, and she sat up and began to talk in our 
own language. She knew she had to leave her baby. 
She had been hoping I would come. I had a good 
heart. Would I take her young one and be kind to 
it, and slap its hands and spank it, as she had done, 
when it was naughty? 

I did not hesitate a minute. “Certainly I will,” I 
said, “if I am permitted.” 

The ape, who was pretty cute, turned to Nonnie. 
She knew what power the dear old woman had. Then, 
groaning with pain, she put her baby in Nonnie’s arms 
and pointed to me. 

Nonnie, overcome by her intelligence, stared open- 
mouthed and could not speak. 

The mother heart of the sick animal was waiting 
for a sign, and when Nonnie gave it by folding the 
baby to her, the old ape fell back. 




Jimmy Gold-Coast 


308 

“She gone,” said Pierre, the sailor who had been 
her chief attendant, and his eyes were moist. “I t’ink 
she waited for you.” 

I was so pleased with him that no person can ever 
say a word against a French sailor before me without 
my making a horrible face at him. 

Nonnie went right home that day, though she and 
Timothy had planned to go to a moving picture and 
take me, for I always sat on her lap and behaved better 
than most children, the manager said. 

She showed the baby, whose name was Wynkoops— 
from the place in Java where he had been born—to 
Miss Macadder, and that amused woman said, “Cer¬ 
tainly you may keep it here,” and Nonnie took him to 
our cottage and spent the rest of the day in making 
over one of my old suits for him. 

Little Wynkoops kept pretty quiet till bedtime came, 
and took quite nicely some milk and water from a 
baby’s feeding bottle, but when Nonnie and I were 
ready to lay ourselves down and go to sleep, the young 
ape began to carry on. 

Nonnie looked at me somewhat doubtfully as I sat 
with him clinging to me on the foot of her bed. He 
wanted to be caressed all the time, and my hands were 
quite tired. 

Then she lifted her dear old head from the pillow 
and said, “Here, gimme dat baby. You is all tuckered 
out. Your pretty eyes look like two holes in a pink 
blanket.” 

Wynkoops would not go to her and began to scream 
when she insisted on holding him. From screaming 
he went to roaring like a young gorilla, and I stretched 
out my weary arms to him. How little I dreamed 
that night what a comfort he would soon be to me. I 
thought he would drive me crazy, and Nonnie, too. 




My Little Wynkoops 


309 


“My soul an’ body!” she said. “Nonnie has plenty 
of grace for one monkey, but she dunno about two.” 

At last she got up and lighted a fire in the grate. 
“Dey say dere’s soothin’ in a bath,” she remarked, and 
soon Wynkoops was sitting in a tub of warm water, 
playing with his cunning little toes. After he had sat 
there for a long time, Nonnie dried and rubbed him 
and brushed and combed his head, for he had not much 
hair then. Then we went back to bed, but not to sleep, 
for just like a mischievous human baby, he kept us 
awake till daylight, playing with the toys Miss Mac- 
adder had sent out for him. 

In the morning, Nonnie had a talk with Miss 
Macadder, and that thoughtful woman went down 
town and bought a little basket which was put in a 
small room next Nonnie’s, and I was told to sleep there 
with the little ape. 

Miss Macadder also had Pierre the sailor, who had 
been so fond of the mother, come out and spend a few 
days with us, and he soon had Master Wynkoops in 
a state of subjection to me and to Nonnie. Then he 
began to be a comfort, and surely he was the cutest 
little ape that ever was born, with his wizened face 
that looked as if he had the care of the world on his 
shoulders. 

He forgot his mother and looked upon me as mother 
and father, too, and remembering what I had promised 
Jaunette, I was very firm with him and slapped him 
when he did naughty things, being especially severe 
if he tried to steal my food. 




Chapter XXXV 


Frisco-Co and Polly-Lee 


There is a song that Rachel used to sing called “No 
Rose Without a Thorn,” and I was often reminded of 
it by Polly’s behavior after I had the good fortune 
to get a monkey playfellow. 

To speak plainly, she was frightfully jealous of my 
little Wynkoops, and this is the way she used to talk 
to me: 

“Oh! it is very well for you to sit gazing at me with 
that monkey grin on your face and scratching yourself 
with both hands, but just wait till your cunning little 
Wynkoops gets big enough to beat you. A Java ape 
will be much larger than a Garnerian monkey. Then 
when he is old he will bite. Parrots mellow with age. 
Monkeys grow sour, especially Africans. Now if you 
and he were South Americans-” 

“Africans have more brains than South American 
monkeys,” I used to retort. “Why, just listen to our 
clever Doctor. He takes very high ground about my 
family. Didn’t you hear him say to me the other 
day, ‘Jimmy, if you monkeys would take more pains 
with us human beings, we’d really become quite 
intelligent’!” 

“That’s nothing to what he said to me,” she replied, 
but she would not tell me what the Doctor’s remark 
was, and in defending my Wynkoops from her jealousy 
I really became ill-tempered and taunted her with her 
age, which the Doctor had found out was forty. 

You might have told me all these years,” I said 
to her. “We have been such friends.” 

310 




Frisco-Co and Polly-Lee 311 

“When it comes to the question of age,” said Polly 
coolly, “one has no friends”; and she would not speak 
to me for a week. 

Then a glorious thing happened, and Polly and I 
became warmer friends than ever. 

That darling Mrs. Sandys, with her big mother 
heart, knew what Polly was suffering, and just before 
we all broke up housekeeping in the city and Miss 
Macadder built her house in Downton, a parrot baby 
was obtained for Polly. 

Mrs. Sandys sent the Doctor down to Water Street, 
and he scoured the wharves till he found a young, 
grey, red-tailed African parrot from Prince’s Island. 

When he brought him home and set him beside 
Polly, and the little thing held out his claw and Polly 
clasped it, the tears came to Mrs. Sandys’ eyes. 

“How wrong we have done,” she exclaimed, “to 
sentence our dear Polly up to this moment to life-long 
separation from her kind!” 

“Hey, Poll!” I said, creeping up to her, “what do 
you think of my Wynkoops now?” 

She was silent for a long time, then she gurgled, 
“Fancy waiting forty years for someone to hold your 
claw!” 

I had a week with Polly and her baby before I went 
to the prison camp, and it was amusing to see them 
together and to hear them calling to each other when 
they were separated. If Polly were upstairs and little 
San Francisco, as the Doctor had named him, from the 
ship he had come in, were downstairs, one would hear 
them screaming, “Frisco-Co, Frisco-Co! Polly-Lee, 
Polly-Lee” in such an affecting way that persons in 
the street would often stop to listen. 

I knew Polly would bring him up nicely by the way 
she began. She showed him what kind of soft wood 




312 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


to pick to pieces, and took away anything with splinters 
that might stick in his queer fleshy tongue, and she 
was beginning to teach him how to bark like a dog, 
crow like a cock, gobble like a turkey, and throw up his 
wings and dance and bow to the ladies, when Wyn- 
koops and I had to go to the prison camp. 

To tell the truth, I had dreaded this experience, but 
the reality—ah, me! a monkey should always live in 
the woods! 

My master had prepared a comfortable log cabin for 
Nonnie and Timothy and his dear monkeys, and oh! 
how snug we were! The camp was no longer the 
rough place it had been when Nonnie first came up. 
It was getting to look more like a farm. 

Wynkoops and I had a tiny room in Nonnie’s cabin, 
and there was a stove in it protected by a wire grating. 
The weather was quite cold when we arrived, and 
Wynkoops and I would rush out through our little 
swinging door and scamper about in the underbrush, 
or race each other to the tops of the tall snow-laden 
trees, and then tear home and throw ourselves on our 
stomachs on the warm grating, and oh! how good it 
felt, and what heroes we were to the convicts! 

Really my little Wynkoops was almost as good as 
a baby to them, and I used to see tears in the eyes of 
some of the men who had children at home when they 
watched his playful antics. 

The convicts, who were a hardy-looking body of 
men now and more like soldiers than prisoners, were 
not the only ones who admired my little Wynkoops. 

Master Nappy, by permission of the kind Warden, 
had made the prison camp a sanctuary for all distressed 
and hunted wild animals and birds. When shots from 
hunters were heard in the distance, one would see 
gentle deer, animals and birds, big and little, hurrying 




Frisco-Co and Polly-Lee 


313 


to the shelter of the wide tract of woodland about us. 
Indeed, some of the animals became so tame that they 
would come right up to the big barns and the men’s 
barracks, and wait for wisps of hay to be thrown to 
them. 

Some monkeys tear birds to pieces, but I taught 
little Wynkoops to let them alone and even to carry 
crusts of bread up the tall tree trunks and fill deserted 
birds’ nests with them. While he was doing this, some 
of the tamer birds would fly so close to him that their 
wings would brush his little hairy pate. 

Timothy never got tired of watching Wynkoops 
wait on the birds. The old fellow was perfectly 
contented in the prison camp, and often roared with 
laughter when Nonnie reminded him of the time when 
he fought against coming to it. He and Nonnie were 
quite personages up here among the prisoners, and 
prided themselves on being of use to men who had 
few friends. 

However, of all happy persons in the camp, my 
master was the happiest, and I used to stare at him for 
a long time after we first went up, and wonder whether 
this brown young man in the big boots and heavy coat 
was the same pale-faced lad who used to loiter about 
the lobbies of hotels, smoking numberless cigarettes 
and meditating mischief. 

He loved his camp and he loved his family, and 
when he went to Downton for holidays I used to sit 
for hours hugging myself and basking in the light of 
the new look on his face. 





TREE FOR THE BIRDS. 






































































Chapter XXXVI 


Last Words 


I feel really quite sorry that the time has come for 
me to close my story. I have enjoyed telling boys and 
girls something about the life of a monkey in captivity, 
but I realize that when everybody is happy and no one 
is ill, and no one has any troubles, the time has come 
to stop talking. 

So I will say that two Christmases have slipped by 
since my little Wynkoops came to me, and we are all 
in Downton celebrating the merriest Christmas that 
we have ever had. 

This afternoon my friend Polly sat beside me on 
the dining-room window seat watching the lively 
family group outside. In the middle of the snowy 
yard stood a huge Christmas tree for the birds, many 
of whom stay all winter with the Sandyses as they 
know the food supply is secure. 

Daisy the robin was there with her family watching 
the rosy Sandys children and their friends hanging 
bags of suet, sponge cake, candy, lumps of sugar, 
chopped nuts and many other things on the branching 
fir tree, round which, when night came, they would 
have merry games and dances, while they sang “The 
Maple Leaf Forever” and other patriotic songs. 

Our own dogs and neighbors’ dogs were bounding 
about, but none of them seemed as happy as my friend 
Millie, who had allowed little Wynkoops to get on her 
back. He looked a picture in his red cap, holding on 
her back with his little skinny fingers, and shrieking 
with pleasure as she raced round and round the tree. 

3i5 




3 i6 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


He was growing quickly, and though I still called 
him my little Wynkoops, he would soon be bigger than 
I was; and just here I must say a word about Nonnie, 
who at this moment appeared at the kitchen door with 
a tray full of hot drinks, heaped-up plates of red apples, 
and her famous rock cakes, for the children were too 
busy to come in for their mid-afternoon lunch. 

“Looks younger than ever, doesn’t she?” said 
Polly, following the direction of my eyes. “Being an 
old black queen up in that prison camp has made a 
new woman of her. You’d think she’d get spoiled, 
being the only woman there beside the Warden’s 
wife.” 

“You can’t spoil Nonnie,” I said; “she’s too clever.” 

“Do you really and truly like the prison camp better 
than Downton, Jimmy?” 

“Really and truly, Polly! and remember how much 
I am away on trips with my master, for he rarely goes 
without me.” 

“Just fancy,” she said, “ The MacHadra’ being a 
preacher!” 

“He isn’t a real preacher,” I said. 

“Well, he goes round making speeches in prisons 
and halls.” 

“He’s magnificent,” I said, “and when boys shout 
'Speech, speech, Prison MacHadra!’ I am so proud 
that I don’t know what to do.” 

“Fancy his losing his shyness!” Polly went on. 
“He’s as bold as a lion now.” 

“Isn’t he?” I said enthusiastically; “and you should 
just hear his loud clear voice when he makes addresses 
—‘A clean Canada—Stand by the prisoners—Hard 
labor, but a dash of pleasure—Imprison the body, but 
set free the mind—Canada needs all her sons. Don’t 
keep them shut up too long’—I tell you it’s enough to 




Last Words 


317 


make any monkey proud of his master; and he’s doing 
so much good, Polly. In one penitentiary he visited, 
even the bull gang cried.” 

“What an awful name! What does it mean?” 

“The worst boys in prison, Polly. The ones that 
just won’t repent.” 

“Listen!” she said. “What’s that noise?” 

I burst out laughing. “Don’t you know by this 
time?” 

“Oh, Grandfather’s little tune!” and she cackled 
cheerily as the dear old man came round the corner of 
the house, led by Shaker, who had a string on his neck, 
for Grandfather was blinder than ever. Shaker took 
him everywhere, and just now they had been down to 
the post office for the mail, and Shaker was barking, 
“Get out of the way, animals! The most remarkable 
man in Nova Scotia is coming!” and Winged Heel 
and Messenger, and all the neighbors’ dogs in the yard 
lifted their lips in dog smiles and made room for the 
important little short-legged Aberdeen, who guided 
Grandfather right into the house and to the warm 
fire-place, where Grandmother sat knitting so fast for 
the prisoner friends of her beloved Nappy that she 
could finish a pair of socks in three days. 

She loved Grandfather’s sad little song that he sang 
when he was especially pleased: 

“Hark, from the tombs a mournful sound! 

My soul attend the cry; 

Ye mortals come and view the place, 

Where ye must shortly lie.” 

“And he likes it,” said Polly; “so what does it 
matter about the other people?” 

“Isn’t the old man contented now that Master 
Nappy has come round all right?” I said. 




3i8 


Jimmy Gold-Coast 


“Happy isn’t the word for it,” replied Polly; “and 
the disgrace is all wiped out, for I heard him the other 
day trying to persuade a man from Cape Breton that 
his grandson had really had a prison sentence, and the 
man said, 'Go on with your nonsense. In my end of 
the province we know that your grandson went into a 
penitentiary to find out real conditions’; and Grand¬ 
father choked so with laughter that Grandmother had 
to pat him on the back.” 

“He wasn’t trying to deceive the man, was he?” 
I asked anxiously, for I did not want to hear that the 
dear old man would fall from grace. 

“Not a bit of it. He insisted on his statement that 
his grandson had really been a convict, but it was of 
no use. The man thought he was fooling him. Grand¬ 
father was not bound to tell him that your Master 
Nappy’s father had been a thief.” 

I thought of what Miss Macadder had said long 
ago: “That boy will wipe out prison stain with prison 
stain,” and “Everything is forgotten in time,” and I 
watched him with loving pride when he came into the 
house with the children crowding about him. 

They were contending about which ones should sit 
next him at the supper table, but Grandfather settled 
it by saying decidedly, “He sits by his Grandmother. 
She does not see as much of him as the rest of you.” 

He kissed the dear old lady’s hand as he sat down 
beside her, but how fondly she drew his brown head to 
her as she stroked his cheek and murmured, “Jenny’s 
boy!” 

He blushed, for he saw that they were all smiling at 
him—his uncle and aunt, and Rachel and the children 
and dear Aunt Mary Macadder. 

“Grandmother’s health!” he said gaily, and the 
children all got up and raised their glasses of milk. 




Last Words 


3i9 


That reminded me of my Wynkoops, and I skipped 
out to the kitchen to see how he was getting on. 

The little dear was behind the stove, stripping off 
his snowy suit and hanging it neatly on the line where 
Nonnie had her dish-cloths. 

“Take it out in de woodshed, darlin’,” she remarked 
with a sly glance at me. “Young monkey mus’ learn 
to do de right thing. Den come to Nonnie an’ she’ll 
give him his weeny bowl of bread and milk.” 

Timothy, who was sitting by the stove, got up when 
he saw that Wynkoops looked fearfully out toward 
the dark woodshed and said, “Here’s a hand, my pet. 
Timothy will go with his baby monk.” 

“Isn’t he a picture?” I said to Polly, who had trotted 
out after me. 

“Beautiful!” she said; “but not as sweet as my 
Frisco. Look at him. He’s so intelligent in his little 
parrot mind.” 

I turned my head toward the dining-room. Frisco 
had found out that Grandmother had a soft spot for 
all young things, and wasn’t the little rascal there on 
the floor at her feet, and she was slipping him things 
from her plate. 

“It won’t hurt him for once,” said Polly indulgently. 
“Grandmother’s visit will be short.” 

When supper was over we had some jolly Christmas 
games, and then came bedtime and a light lunch 
brought in by Nonnie and Timothy. 

Just now everybody is going to bed, and I must go, 
too, for my sleepy little Wynkoops is calling me. I 
think I will close just here and say, “A very merry 
Christmas to everybody, and please be kind to 
monkeys”—and in view of my great friendship for 
my dear Polly, I think I ought to add, “and don’t 
forget the parrots.” 









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